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->  J  ■>  ■>       ) 

J    >1     3  J     , 


Chapter  VIII.~P.6o. 


Constance  Sherwood. 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


THE     SIXTEEE"TH     OEIJ^TUET. 


9         ,      •     «*       »         •« 


BY 


LADY  GEORGIANA  FULLERTON, 


iBSactf)  JFour  KUttstratioufl* 


New  York  : 
THE    CATHOLIC    PUBLICATION    SOCIETY, 

No.    9    WARREN    STREET. 


•       •  •  •  •         " 

(.  •       •  •         •       • 

e     c  •     •  •  •    , 


Constance  Sherwood. 


.AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    THE    SIXTEENTH    CENTURY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

I  HAD  not  thouglit  to  write  the  story 
of  my  life ;  but  the  wishes  of  those 
who  have  at  all  times  more  right  to 
command  than  occasion  to  entreat 
aught  at  my  hands,  have  in  a  man- 
ner compelled  me  thereunto.  The  di- 
vers trials  and  the  unlooked-for  com- 
forts which  have  come  to  my  lot  during 
the  years  that  I  have  been  tossed  to 
and  fro  on  this  uneasy  sea — the  world 
— ^have  wrought  in  my  soul  an  ex- 
ceeding sense  of  the  goodness  of  God, 
and  an  insight  into  the  meaning  of  the 
sentence  in  Holy  Writ  which  saith, 
"  His  ways  are  not  as  our  ways,  nor 
his  thoughts  like  unto  our  thoughts." 
And  this  puts  me  in  mind  that  there 
are  sayings  which  are  in  every  one's 
mouth,  and  therefore  not  to  be  lightly 
gainsayed,  which  nevertheless  do  not 
approve  themselves  to  my  conscience 
as  wholly  just  and  true.  Of  these  is 
the  common  adage,  "  That  misfortunes 
come  not  alone."  For  my  own  part, 
I  have  found  that  when  a  cross  has 
been  laid  on  me,  it  has  mostly  been  a 
single   one,   and   that   other  jflrrows 


M1H768 


were  oftentimes  removed,  as  if  to 
make  room  for  it  And  it  has  been 
my  wont,  when  one  trial  has  been 
passing  away,  to  look  out  for  the  next, 
even  as  on  a  stormy  day,  when  the 
clouds  have  rolled  away  in  one  direc- 
tion and  sunshine  is  breaking  over- 
head, we  see  others  rising  in  the  dis- 
tance. There  has  been  no  portion  of 
my  life  free  from  some  measure  of 
grief  or  fear  sufficient  to  recall  the 
words  that  "  Man  is  born  to  trouble  as 
the  sparks  fly  upward ;"  and  none  so 
reft  of  consolation  that,  in  the  midst  of 
suffering,  I  did  not  yet  cry  out,  "  The 
Lord  is  my  shepherd;  his  rod  and 
his  staff  comfort  me." 

I  was  born  in  the  year  1557,  in  a 
very  fair  part  of  England,  at  Sher- 
wood Hall,  in  the  county  of  Stafford. 
For  its  comely  aspect,  commodious 
chambers,  sunny  gardens,  and  the 
sweet  walks  in  its  vicinity,  it  was  as 
commendable  a  residence  for  persons 
of  moderate  fortune  and  contented 
minds  as  can  well  be  thought  of. 
Within  and  without  this  my  paternal 
home  notliing  was  wanting  which  might 
please  the  eye,  or  minister  to  tranquil- 


Constance.  Sherwood, 


lity  of  mind  and  healthful  recreation. 
I  reckon  it  amongst  the  many  favors  I 
have  received  from  a  gracious  Provi- 
dence, that  the  earlier  years  of  my  life 
were  spent  amidst  such  fair  scenes, 
and  in  the  society  of  parents  who  ever 
took  occasion  from  earthly  things  to 
lead  my  thoughts  to  such  as  are  im- 
perishable, and  so  to  stir  up  in  me  a 
love  of  the  Creator,  who  has  stamped 
Ills  image  on  this  visible  world  in 
characters  of  so  great  beauty ;  whilst 
in  the  tenderness  of  those  dear  parents 
unto  myself  I  saw,  as  it  were,  a  type 
and  representation  of  his  paternal 
love  and  goodness. 

My  father  was  of  an  ancient  family, 
and  allied  to  such  as  were  of  greater 
note  and  more  wealthy  than  his  own. 
He,  had  not,  as  is  the  manner  with 
m3,tiy  squires  C'f  Q^r  days,  left  off  re- 
siding on  his  o^Vnl  estate  in  order  to 
oeek  after  the  shows  and  diversions  of 
Loudon ;  but  had  unitdd  to  a  great  hu- 
mility of  mind  and  a  bifigiiiar  affection 
for  learning  a  contentedness  of  spirit 
which  inclined  him  to  dwell  in  the 
place  assigned  to  him  by  Providence. 
He  had  married  at  an  early  age,  and 
had  ever  conformed  to  the  habits  of 
his  neighbors  in  all  lawful  and  kindly 
ways,  and  sought  no  other  labors  but 
such  as  were  incidental  to  the  care  of 
his  estates,  and  no  recreations  but 
those  of  study,  joined  to  a  moderate 
pursuit  of  field-sports  and  such  social 
diversions  as  the  neighborhood  afford- 
ed. His  outward  appearance  was  rath- 
er simple  than  showy,  and  his  man- 
ners grave  and  composed.  When  I 
call  to  mind  the  singular  modesty  of 
his  disposition,  and  the  retiredness  of 
his  manners,  I  often  marvel  how  the 
force  of  circumstances  and  the  urging 
of  conscience  should  have  forced  one 
so  little  by  nature  inclined  to  an  unset- 
tled mode  of  life  into  one  which,'  albeit 
peaceful  in  its  aims,  proved  so  full  of 
danger  and  disquiet. 

My  mother's  love  I  enjoyed  but  for 
a  brief  season.  Not  that  it  waxed 
cold  toward  me,  as  happens  with  some 
parents,  who  look  with  fondness  on  the 
child  and  less  tenderly  on  the  maiden ; 


but  it  pleased  Almighty  God  to  take 
her  unto  himself  when  I  was  but  ten 
years  of  age.  Her  face  is  as  present 
to  me  now  as  any  time  of  my  life.  No 
limner's  hand  ever  drew  a  more  faith- 
ful picture  than  the  one  I  have  of  her 
even  now  engraeed  on  the  tablet  of  my 
heart.  She  had  so  fair  and  delicate 
a  complexion  that  I  can  only  liken  ifc 
to  the  leaf  of  a  white  rose  with  the 
lightest  tinge  of  pink  in  it.  Her  hair 
was  streaked  with  gray  too  early  for 
her  years ;  but  this  matched  well  with 
the  sweet  melancholy  of  her  eyes, 
which  were  of  a  deep  violet  color.  Her 
eyelids  were  a  trifle  thick,  and  so  were 
her  lips  ;  but  there  was  a  pleasantness 
in  her  smile,  and  the  dimples  about 
her  mouth  such  as  I  have  not  noticed 
in  any  one  else.  She  had  a  sweet 
womanly  and  loving  heart,  and  the 
noblest  spirit  imaginable ;  a  great  zeal 
in  the  service  of  God,  tempered  with 
so  much  sweetness  and  cordiality  that 
she  gave  not  easily  offence  to  any  one, 
of  howsoever  different  a  way  of  think- 
ing from  herself ;  and  cither  won  them 
over  to  her  faith  through  the  suavity 
of  her  temper  and  the  wisdom  .  of  her 
discourse,  or  else  worked  in  them  a 
personal  liking  which  made  them  pa- 
tient with  her,  albeit  fierce  with  others. 
When  I  was  about  seven  years  of 
age  I  noticed  that  she  waxed  thin  and 
pale,  and  that  we  seldom  went  abroad, 
and  walked  only  in  our  own  garden 
and  orchard.  She  seemed  glad  to  sit 
on  a  bench  on  the  sunny  side  of  the 
house  even  in  summer,  and  on  days 
when  by  reason  of  the  heat  I  Hked  to 
lie  down  in  the  shade.  My  parents 
forbade  me  from  going  into  the  vil- 
lage ;  and,  through  the  perverseness 
common  to  too  many  young  people,  on 
account  of  that  very  prohibition  I 
longed  for  liberty  to  do  so,  and  wearied 
oftentimes  of  the  solitude  we  Hved  in. 
At  a  later  period  I  learnt  how  kind 
had  been  their  intent  in  kee])ing  me 
during  the  early  years  of  childliood 
from  a  knowledge  of  the  woful  divi- 
sions which  the  late  changes  in  reU- 
gion  had  wrought  in  our  country; 
Avhich  I  might  easily  have  heard  from 


Consianca  Sherwood. 


young  companions,  and  maybe  in  such 
sort  as  to  awaken  angry  feelings,  and 
shed  a  drop  of  bitter  in  the  crystal  cup 
of  childhood's  pure  faith.  It'  we  did 
walk  abroad,  it  was  to  visit  some  sick 
persons,  and  carry  them  food  or  cloth- 
ing or  medicines,  which  ray  mother 
prepared  with  her  own  hands.  But 
as  she  grew  weaker,  we  went  less 
often  outside  the  gates,  and  the  poor 
came  themselves  to  fetch  away  what 
in  her  bounty  she  stored  up  for  them. 
I  did  not  notice  that  our  neighbors 
looked  unkindly  on  us  when  we  were 
seen  in  the  village.  Children  would 
cry  out  sometimes,  but  half  in  play, 
'•  Down  with  the  Papists !"  but  I  wit- 
nessed that  their  ciders  checked  them, 
especially  those  of  the  poorer  sort; 
and  "  God  bless  you,  Mrs.  Sherwood !" 
and  "  God  save  you,  madam !"  was 
often  in  their  mouths,  as  she  whom  I 
loved  with  so  great  and  reverent  an 
affection  passed  alongside  of  them,  or 
stopped  to  take  breath,  leaning  against 
their  cottage-pahngs. 

Many  childish  heartaches  I  can 
even  nov/  remember  when  I  was  not 
suffered  to  join  in  the  merry  sports  of 
the  1st  of  May ;  for  then,  as  the  poet 
Chaucer  sings,  the  youths  and  maidens 


"  To  fetch  tlio  flowers  fresh  and  branch  and  bloom, 
Ana  these  rejoicing  in  theii"  great  dehght, 
Hke  each  at  other  throw  the  bloasoms bright." 


I  watched  the  merry  wights  as  they 
passed  our  door  on  their  way  to  the 
groves  and  meadows,  singing  mirthful 
carols,  and  bent  on  pleasant  pastimes ; 
and  tears  stood  in  my  eyes  as  the 
sound  of  their  voices  died  away  in  the 
distance.  My  father  found  me  thus 
weeping  one  May-day,  and  carried  me 
with  him  to  a  sweet  spot  in  a  wood, 
where  wild-flowers  grew  like  living 
jewels  out  of  the  green  carpet  of  moss 
on  which  we  sat;  and  there,  as  the 
birds  sang  from  every  bough,  and  the 
insects  hovered  and  hummed  over  eve- 
ry blossom,  he  entertained  me  with  such 
quaint  and  pleasant  tales,  and  moved 
me  to  merry  laughter  by  his  witty  de- 
vices ;  so  that  I  set  down  that  day  in 


my  book  of  memory  as  one  of  the  joy- 
fullest  in  all  my  childhood.  At  Easter, 
v/hen  the  village  children  rolled  pascli 
eggs  down  the  smooth  sides  of  the 
green  hills,  my  mother  would  palr.t  me 
some  herself,  and  adorned  them  with 
such  bright  colors  and  rare  sentences 
that  I  feared  to  break  them  with  rude 
handling,  and  kept  them  by  mo 
throughout  the  year,  rather  as  pictures 
to  be  gazed  on  than  toys  to  be  played 
with  in  a  wanton  fashion. 

On  the  morning  of  the  Resurrec- 
tion, when  others  went  to  the  top  of 
Cannock  Chase  to  hail  the  rising  sun, 
as  is  the  custom  of  those  parts,  she 
would  sing  so  sweetly  the  psalm  which 
speaketh  of  the  heavens  rejoicing  and 
of  the  earth  being  glad,  that  it  grieved 
me  not  to  stay  at  home ;  albeit  I  some- 
times marvelled  that  we  saw  so  little 
company,  and  mixed  not  more  freely 
with  our  neighbors. 

When  I  had  reached  my  ninth  birth- 
day, whether  it  was  that  I  took  better 
heed  of  words  spoken  in  my  hearing, 
or  else  that  my  parents  thought  it  was 
time  that  I  should  learn  somewhat  ol 
the  conditions  of  the  times,  and  so 
talked  more  freely  in  my  presence,  it 
so  happened  that  I  heard  of  the 
jeopardy  in  which  many  who  held  the 
Catholic  faith  were,  and  of  the  laws 
which  were  being  made  to  prohibit  in 
our  country  the  practice  of  the  ancient 
religion.  When  Protestants  came  to 
our  house — and  it  was  sometimes  hard 
in  those  days  to  tell  who  were  such  at 
heart,  or  only  in  outward  semblance 
out  of  conformity  to  the  queen's  pleas- 
ure— I  was  strictly  charged  not  to 
speak  in  their  hearing  of  aught  that 
had  to  do  with  Catholic  faith  and  wor- 
ship ;  and  I  could  see  at  such  times  on 
my  mother's  face  an  uneasy  expres- 
sion, as  if  she  was  ever  fearing  the 
next  words  that  any  one  might  utter. 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year  we  had 
visitors  whose  company  was  so  greas 
an  honor  to  my  parents,  and  the  occa- 
sion of  so  much  delight  to  myself,  that 
I  can  call  to  mind  every  little  circum- 
stance of  their  brief  sojourn  under  our 
roof,  even  as  if  it  had  taken  place  1  at 


Constance  Sherwood. 


yesterday.  This  visit  proved  the  first 
step  toward  an  intimacy  which  greatly 
affected  the  tenor  of  my  life,  and  pre- 
jiared  the  way  for  the  direction  it  was 
hereafter  to  take. 

These  truly  honorable  and  well-be- 
loved guests  were  my  Lady  Mount- 
eagle  and  her  son  Mr.  James  Laboum, 
who  were  journeying  at  that  time  from 
London,  where  she  had  been  residing 
at  her  son-in-law  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk's house,  to  her  seat  in  the  coun- 
try; whither  she  was  carrying  the 
three  children  of  her  daughter,  the 
Duchess  of  Norfolk,  and  of  that  lady's 
first  husband,  the  Lord  Dacre  of  the 
North.  The  eldest  of  these  young 
ladies  was  of  about  my  own  age,  and 
the  others  younger. 

The  day  on  which  her  ladyship  was 
expected,  I  could  not  sit  with  patience 
at  my  tambour-frame,  or  con  my  les- 
sons, or  play  on  the  virgmals;  but 
watched  the  hours  and  the  minutes  in 
ray  great  desire  to  see  these  noble 
wenches.  I  had  not  hitherto  consorted 
with  young  companions,  save  with  Ed- 
mund and  John  Genings,  of  whom  I 
shall  have  occasion  to  speak  hereafter, 
who  were  then  my  playmates,  as  at 
a  riper  age  friends.  I  thought,  in  the 
quaint  way  in  which  children  couple 
one  idea  with  another  in  their  fantastic 
imaginations,  that  my  Lady  Mount- 
eagle's  three  daughters  would  be  like 
the  three  angels,  in  my  mother's  mis- 
sal, who  visited  i^braham  in  his  tent. 

I  had  craved  from  my  mother  a 
holiday,  which  she  granted  on  the 
score  that  I  should  help  her  that  fore- 
noon in  the  making  of  the  pasties  and 
jellies,  which,  as  far  as  her  strength 
allowed,  she  failed  not  to  lend  a  hand 
to ;  and  also  she  charged  me  to  set  the 
bed-chambers  in  fair  order,  and  to 
gather  fresh  flowers  wherewith  to 
adorn  the  parlor.  These  tasks  had 
in  them  a  pleasantness  which  wliiled 
away  the  time,  and  I  alternated  from 
the  parlor  to  the  store-room,  and  the 
kitchen  to  the  orchard,  and  the  poul- 
try-yard to  the  pleasure-ground,  j'uu- 
ning  as  swiftly  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  as  merrily,  aa  if  my  feet  were 


keeping  time  with  the  glad  beatings  ci 
my  heart.  As  I  passed  along  the  ave- 
nue, which  was  bordered  on  each  side 
by  tall  trees,  ever  and  anon,  as  the 
wind  shook  their  branches,  there  fell 
on  my  head  showers  of  red  and  gold- 
colored  leaves,  whicft  made  me  laugh ; 
so  easy  is  it  for  the  young  to  find  occa- 
sion of  mirth  in  the  least  trifle  when 
their  spirits  arc  lightsome,  as  mine 
were  that  day.  I  sat  down  on  a  stone 
bench  on  which  the  western  sun  was 
shining,  to  bind  together  the  posies  I 
had  made ;  the  robins  twittered  around 
me;  and  the  air  felt  soft  and  fresh.  It 
was  the  eve  of  Martinmas- day — Ilal- 
lowtide  Summer,  as  our  country  folk 
call  it.  As  the  sun  was  sinking  behind 
the  hills,  the  tread  of  horses'  leet  was 
heard  in  the  distance,  and  I  sprang  up 
on  the  bench,  shading  my  eyes  with 
my  hand  to  see  the  approach  of  that 
goodly  travelling-party,  which  was 
soon  to  reach  our  gates.  My  parents 
came  out  of  the  front  door,  and  beck- 
oned me  to  their  side.  1  held  my  po- 
sies in  my  apron,  and  forgot  to  set 
them  down ;  for  the  first  sight  of  my 
Lady  Mounteagle,  as  she  rode  up  the 
avenue  with  her  son  at  her  side,  and 
her  three  grand-daughters  with  their 
attendants,  and  many  richly-attired 
serving-men  beside,  filled  me  with  awe. 
I  wondered  if  her  majesty  had  looked 
more  grand  on  the  day  that  she  rodo 
into  London  to  be  proclaimed  queen. 
The  good  lady  sat  on  her  palfry  in  so 
erect  and  stately  a  manner,  as  if  age 
Lad  no  dominion  over  her  limbs  and 
her  spirits ;  and  there  was  something 
so  piercing  and  commanding  in  her 
eye,  that  it  at  once  compelled  rever- 
ence and  submission.  Her  son  had 
somewhat  of  the  same  nobility  of  mien, 
and  was  tall  and  graceful  in  his  move- 
ments ;  but  behind  her,  on  her  pillion, 
sat  a  small  counterpart  of  herself,  in- 
asmuch as  childliood  can  resemble  old 
age,  and  youthful  loveliness  matronly 
dignity.  This  was  the  eldest  of  her 
ladyship's  grand-daughters,  my  sweet 
Mistress  Ann  Dacre.  This  was  my 
first  sight  of  her  v/ho  was  hereafter  to 
hold  so  great  a  pla30  in  my  heart  and 


Constance  Sherwood. 


in  my  life.  As  she  was  lifted  from  the 
saddle,  and  stood  in  her  riding-habit 
and  plumed  hat  at  our  door,  making  a 
graceful  and  modest  obeisance  to  my 
parents,  one  step  retired  behind  her 
grandam,  with  a  lovely  color  tinging 
her  cheeks,  and  her  long  lashes  veil- 
ing her  sweet  eyes,  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  so  fair  a  creature  as  this 
high-bom  maiden  of  my  own  age ;  and 
even  now  that  time,  as  it  has  gone  by, 
has  shown  me  all  that  a  court  can  dis- 
play to  charm  the  eyes  and  enrapture 
the  fancy,  I  do  not  gainsay  that  same 
childish  thought  of  mine.  Her  sisters, 
pretty  prattlers  then,  four  and  six 
years  of  age,  were  led  into  the  house 
by  their  governess.  But  ere  our  guests 
were  seated,  my  mother  bade  me  kiss 
my  Lady  Mounteagle's  hand  and  com- 
mend myself  to  her  goodness,  praying 
her  to  be  a  good  lady  to  me,  and  over- 
look, out  of  her  great  indulgence,  my 
many  defects.  At  which  she  patted 
me  on  the  cheek,  and  said,  she  doubted 
not  but  that  I  was  as  good  a  child  as 
such  good  parents  deserved  to  have ; 
and  indeed,  if  I  was  as  like  my  mother 
in  temper  as  in  face,  I  must  needs  be 
such  as  her  hopes  and  wishes  would 
have  me.  And  then  she  commanded 
Mistress  Ann  to  salute  me ;  and  I  felt 
ray  cheeks  flush  and  my  heart  beat 
with  joy  as  the  sweet  little  lady  put 
her  arms  round  my  neck,  and  pressed 
her  lips  on  my  cheek. 

Presently  we  all  withdrew  to  our 
chambers  until  such  time  as  supper 
was  served,  at  which  meal  the  young 
ladies  were  present;  and  I  marvelled 
to  see  how  becomingly  even  the  young- 
est of  them,  who  was  but  a  chit,  knew 
how  to  behave  herself,  never  asking 
for  anything,  or  forgetting  to  give 
thanks  in  a  pretty  manner  when  she 
>vas  helped.  For  the  which  my  mother 
greatly  commended  their  good  man- 
ners ;  and  her  ladyship  said,  "  In  truth, 
good  Mistress  Sherwood,  I  carry  a 
strict  hand  over  them,  never  suftering 
their  faults  to  go  unchastised,  nor  per- 
mitting such  liberties  as  many  do  to 
th3  min  of  their  children."  I  Vv^as 
straightway  seized  with  a  great  confu- 


sion and  fear  that  this  was  meant  as  a 
rebuke  to  me,  who,  not  being  much 
used  to  company,  and  something  over- 
indulged by  my  father,  by  whose  side 
I  was  seated,  had  spoken  to  him  more 
than  once  that  day  at  table,  and  had 
also  left  on  my  plate  some  victuals  not 
to  my  liking;  which,  as  I  learnt  at 
another  time  from  Mistress  Ann,  was 
an  oifence  for  which  her  grandmother 
would  have  sharply  reprehended  her. 
I  ventured  not  again  to  speak  in  her 
presence,  and  scarcely  to  raise  my  eyes 
toward  her. 

The  young  ladies  withdrew  early  to 
bed  that  night,  and  I  had  but  little 
speech  with  them.  Before  they  left 
the  parlor.  Mistress  Ann  took  her  sis- 
ters by  the  hand,  and  all  of  them, 
kneeling  at  their  grandmother's  feet, 
craved  her  blessing.  I  could  see  a 
tear  in  her  eye  as  she  blessed  them ; 
and  when  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
head  of  the  eldest  of  her  grand-daugh- 
ters, it  lingered  there  as  if  to  call  down 
upon  her  a  special  benison.  The  next 
day  my  Lady  Mounteagle  gave  pei- 
mission  for  Mistress  Ann  to  go  with 
me  into  the  garden,  where  I  showed 
her  my  flowers  and  the  young  rabbits 
that  Edmund  Genings  and  his  brother, 
my  only  two  playmates,  were  so  fond 
of;  and  she  told  me  how  well  pleased 
she  was  to  remove  from  London  unto 
her  grandmother's  scat,  where  she 
would  have  a  garden  and  such  pleas- 
ant pastimes  as  are  enjoyed  in  the 
country. 

"Prithee,  Mistress  Ann,"  I  said, 
with  the  unmannerly  boldness  with 
which  children  arc  wont  to  question 
one  another,  "  have  you  not  a  mother, 
that  you  live  with  your  grandam?" 

"I  thank  God  that  I  have,"  she  an- 
swered ;  "  and  a  good  mother  she  is  to 
me ;  but  by  reason  of  her  having  lately 
married  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  my 
grandmother  has  at  the  present  time 
the  charge  of  us." 

'•  And  do  you  greatly  love  my  Lady 
Mounteagle?"  I  asked,  misdoubting  in 
my  folly  that  a  lady  of  so  grave  aspect 
and  stately  carriage  should  be  loved 
by  children. 


8 


Cwistance  Shei-wood, 


"As  greatly  as  heart  can  love,"  was 
her  pretty  answer. 

"And  do  you  likewise  love  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  Mistress  Ann?"  I  asked 
again. 

"  He  is  my  very  good  lord  and  fath- 
er," she  answered;  " but  my  knowledge 
of  his  grace  has  been  so  short,  I  have 
scarce  had  time  to  love  him  yet." 

"  But  I  have  loved  you  in  no  time," 
I  cried,  and  threw  my  arms  round  her 
neck.  "  Directly  I  saw  you,  I  loved 
you.  Mistress  Ann." 

"Mayhap,  Mistress  Constance,"  she 
said,  "  it  is  easier  to  love  a  little  girl 
than  a  great  duke." 

"  And  who  do  you  affection  beside 
her  grace  your  mother,  and  my  lady 
your  grandam,  IVIistress  Ann  ?"  I  said, 
again  returning  to  the  charge ;  to  which 
she  quickly  replied : 

"My  brother  Francis,  my  sweet 
Lord  Dacre." 

"Is  he  a  child?"  I  asked. 

"  In  truth,  Mistress  Constance,"  she 
answered,  "he  would  not  be  well  pleased 
to  be  called  so ;  and  yet  methinks  he 
is  but  a  child,  being  not  older,  but 
rather  one  year  younger  than  myself, 
and  my  dear  playmate  and  gossip." 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  brother  or  a  sister 
to  play  with  me,"  I  said ;  at  which 
Mistress  Ann  kissed  me  and  said  she 
was  sorry  I  should  lack  so  great  a  com- 
fort, but  that  I  must  consider  I  had  a 
good  father  of  my  own,  whereas  her 
own  was  dead ;  and  that  a  father  was 
more  than  a  brother. 

In  this  manner  we  held  discourse  all 
the  morning,  and,  Hke  a  rude  imp,  I 
questioned  the  gracious  young  lady  as 
to  her  pastimes  and  her  studies  and  the 
tasks  she  was  set  to ;  and  from  her  in- 
nocent conversation  I  discovered,  as 
children  do,  without  at  the  time  taking 
much  heed,  but  yet  so  as  to  remember 
it  afterward,  what  especial  care  had 
I  been  taken  by  her  grandmother — that 
religious  and  discreet  lady — to  instil 
into  her  virtue  and  piety,  and  in  using 
her,  beside  saying  her  pmyers,  to  be- 
stow alms  with  her  own  hands  on  pris- 
oners and  poor  people ;  and  in  particu- 
lar to  apply  herself  to  the  cure  of  dis- 


eases and  wounds,  wherein  she  herself 
had  ever  excelled.  Mistress  Ann,  in 
her  childish  but  withal  thoughtful  way, 
chid  me  that  in  my  own  garden  were 
only  seen  flowers  which  pleased  the 
senses  by  their  bright  colors  and  per 
fume,  and  none  of  the  heibs  whici 
tend  to  the  assuagement  of  pain  ana 
healing  of  wounds  ;  and  she  made  me 
promise  to  grow  some  against  the  time 
of  her  next  visit.  As  we  went  through 
the  kitchen-garden,  she  plucked  some 
rosemary  and  lavender  and  rue,  and 
many  other  odoriferous  herbs  ;  and  sit- 
ting down  on  a  bench,  she  invited  mc 
to  her  side,  and  discoursed  on  their 
several  virtues  and  properties  with  a 
pretty  sort  of  learning  which  was  mar- 
vellous in  one  of  her  years.  She 
showed  me  which  were  good  for  pro- 
moting sleep,  and  which  for  cuts  and 
bruises,  and  of  a  third  she  said  it  eased 
the  heart. 

"Nay,  Mistress  Ann,"  I  cried,  "but 
that  must  be  a  heartsease ;"  at  which 
she  smiled,  and  answered  : 

"  My  grandam  says  the  best  medi- 
cines for  uneasy  hearts  are  the  bitter 
herb  confession  and  the  sweet,  flovrer 
absolution." 

"  Have  you  yet  made  your  first  com- 
munion. Mistress  Ann  ?"  I  asked  in  a 
low  voice,  at  which  question  a  bright 
color  came  into  her  cheek,  and  she  re- 
plied : 

"  Not  yet ;  but  soon  I  may.  I  was 
confirmed  not  long  ago  by  the  good 
Bishop  of  Durham ;  and  at  my  grand- 
mother's seat  I  am  to  be  instructed  by 
a  Cathohc  priest  who  lives  there." 

"Then  you  do  not  go  to  Protestant 
service  ?"  I  said. 

"AYe  did,"  she  answered,  "for  ;i 
short  time,  whilst  we  stayed  at  the 
Charterhouse;  but  my  grandam  has 
understood  that  it  is  not  lawful  for 
Catholics,  and  she  will  not  be  present 
at  it  herself,  or  suffer  us  any  more  to 
attend  it,  neither  in  her  own  house  nor 
at  his  grace's." 

While  we  were  thus  talking,  tlic 
two  little  ladies,  her  sisters,  came  from 
the  house,  having  cmved  leave  from 
the  governess  to  run  out  into  the  gar- 


Constanc3  SJierwood, 


den.  Mistress  Mary  ^vas  a  pale  deli- 
cate child,  with  soft  loving  blue  eyes ; 
and  Mistress  Bess,  the  youngest,  a 
merry  imp,  whose  rosy  cheeks  and 
dimpling  smiles  were  full  of  glee  and 
meriiment. 

"  What  ugly  sober  flowers  are  these, 
Nan,  that  thou  art  playing  with  ?"  she 
cried,  and  snatched  at  the  herbs  in  her 
sister's  lap.  "  When  I  marry  my  Lord 
William  Howard,  I'll  wear  a  posy  of 
roses  and  carnations." 

"When  I  am  married,"  said  little 
Mistress  Mary,  "  I  will  wear  nothing 
but  liUes." 

"  And  what  shall  be  thy  posy,  Nan  ?" 
said  the  little  saucy  one  again,  "  when 
thou  dost  wed  my  Lord  Surrey?" 

"  Hush,  hush,  madcaps !"  cried  Mis- 
tress Ann.  "  If  your  grandam  was  to 
hear  you,  I  doubt  not  but  the  rod  would 
be  called  for." 

Mistress  Mary  looked  round  affright- 
ed, but  little  Mistress  Bess  said  in  a 
funny  manner,  "  Prithee,  Nan,  do  rods 
then  travel  ?" 

"Ay;  by  that  same  token,  Bess, 
that  I  heard  my  lady  bid  thy  nurse 
take  care  to  carry  one  with  her." 

"It  was  nurse  told  me  I  was  to 
marry  my  Lord  William,  and  Madge 
my  Lord  Thomas,  and  thee,  Nan,  my 
Lord  Surrey,  and  brother  pretty  Meg 
Howard,"  said  the  little  lady,  pouting ; 
"  but  I  won't  tell  grandam  of  it  an  it 
would  be  like  to  make  her  angry." 

"  I  would  be  a  nun  I"  Mistress  Mary 
cried. 

"  Hush !"  her  elder  sister  said ;  "  that 
is  foolish  talliuig,  Madge  ;  my  grand- 
mother told  me  so  when  I  said  the 
same  thing  to  her  a  year  ago.  Chil- 
dren do  not  know  what  Almighty  God 
intends  them  to  do.  And  now  methinks 
I  see  Uncle  Labourn  making  as  if  he 
would  call  us  to  the  house,  and  there 
are  the  horses  coming  to  the  door.  We 
must  needs  obey  the  summons.  Prithee, 
Mistress  Constance,  do  not  forget  me." 

Forget  her !  No.  From  that  day 
lo  this  years  have  passed  over  our 
heads  and  left  deep  scars  on  our 
hearts.  Divers  periods  of  our  lives 
have  been  signalized  by  many  a  strange 


passage ;  we  have  rejoiced,  and,  oftener 
still,  wept  together;  we  have  met  in 
trembling,  and  parted  in  anguish  ; 
but  through  sorrow  and  through  jo} , 
through  evil  report  and  good  report, 
in  riches  and  in  poverty,  in  youth  and 
in  age,  I  have  blessed  the  day  when 
first  I  met  thee,  sweet  Ann  Dacre,  the 
fairest,  purest  flower  which  ever  grew 
on  a  noble  stem. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A  YEAR  elapsed  betwixt  the  period 
of  the  so  brief,  but  to  me  so  memorable, 
visit  of  the  welcomest  guests  our  house 
ever  received — to  wit,  my  Lady  Mount- 
eagle  and  her  grand-daughters — and 
that  in  which  I  met  with  an  accident, 
which  compelled  my  parents  to  carry 
me  to  Lichfield  for  chirurgical  advice. 
Four  times  in  the  course  of  that  yt^ar 
I  was  honored  with  letters  writ  by 
the  hand  of  Mistress  Ann  Dacre ; 
partly,  as  the  gracious  young  lady 
said,  by  reason  of  her  grandmother'.; 
de'sire  that  the  bud  acquaintanceship 
which  had  sprouted  in  the  short-liveci 
season  of  the  aforesaid  visit  should, 
by  such  intercourse  as  may  be  carried 
on  by  means  of  letters,  blossom  into 
a  flower  of  true  friendship ;  and  also 
that  that  worthy  lady  and  my  good 
mother  willed  such  a  correspondence 
betwixt  us  as  would  serve  to  the  sharp- 
ening of  our  wits,  and  the  using  our 
pens  to  be  good  servants  to  our 
thoughts.  In  the  course  of  this 
history  I  will  set  down  at  intervals 
some  of  the  letters  I  received  at  divers 
times  from  this  noble  lady;  so  that 
those  who  read  these  innocent  pictures 
of  herself,  portrayed  by  her  ovm  hand, 
may  trace  the  beginnings  of  those 
virtuous  inclinations  which  at  an 
early  age  were  already  working  in 
her  soul,  and  ever  after  appeared 
in  her. 

On  the  15th  day  of  January  of  the 
next  year  to  that  in  which  my  eyes 
had  feasted  on  this  creature  so  em- 
bellished with  rare  endowmeats    and 


lO 


Constance  Sherwood, 


accomplished  gracefulness,  the  first 
letter  I  had  from  her  came  to  my 
hand ;  the  first  link  of  a  chain  which 
knit  together  her  heart  and  mine 
through  long  seasons  of  absence  and 
sore  troubles,  to  the  great  comforting, 
as  she  was  often  pleased  to  say,  of 
.  herself,  who  was  so  far  above  me  in 
'rank,  whom  she  chose  to  call  her 
friend,  and  of  the  poor  friend  and 
servant  whom  she  thus  honored 
beyond  her  deserts.  In  as  pretty  a 
handwriting  as  can  well  be  thought 
of,  she  thus  wrote : 

"My  sweet  Mistress  Constance, 
— Though  I  enjoyed  your  company 
but  for  the  too  brief  time  during 
which  we  rested  under  your  honored 
parents'  roof,  I  retain  so  great  a  sense 
of  the  contentment  I  received  there- 
from, and  so  lively  a  remembrance  of 
the  converse  we  held  in  the  grounds 
adjacent  to  Sherwood  Hall,  that  I  am 
better  pleased  than  I  can  well  express 
that  my  grandmother  bids  me  sit  down 
and  write  to  one  whom  to  see  and  to 
converse  with  once  more  would  be  to 
me  one  of  the  chiefest  pleasures  in 
life.  And  the  more  welcome  is  this 
command  by  reason  of  the  hope  it 
raises  in  me  to  receive  in  return  a 
letter  from  my  well-beloved  Mistress 
Constance,  which  will  do  my  heart 
more  good  than  anything  else  that 
can  happen  to  me.  'Tis  said  that 
marriages  are  made  in  heaven.  Wlien 
I  asked  my  grandam  if  it  were  so,  she 
said,  '  I  am  of  opinion.  Nan,  they  are 
made  in  many  more  places  than  one ; 
and  I  would  to  God  none  were  made 
but  such  as  are  agreed  upon  in  so 
good  a  pl^ce.'  But  methinks  some 
friendships  are  likewise  made  in  hea- 
ven ;  and  if  it  be  so,  I  doubt  not  but  that 
when  we  met,  and  out  of  that  brief 
meeting  there  arose  so  great  and  sud- 
den a  liking  in  ray  heart  for  you, 
Mistress  Constance, — which,  I  thank 
God,  you  were  not  slow  to  reciprocate, 
— that  our  angels  had  met  where  we 
hope  one  day  to  be,  and  agreed  to- 
gether touching  that  matter. 

*'  It  suits  ill  a  bad  pen  like  mine  to 


describe  the  fair  seat  we  reside  in  at 
this  present  time — the  house  of  Mr. 
James  Labourn,  which  he  has  lent 
unto  my  grandmother.  'Tis  most 
commodious  and  pleasant,  and  after 
long  sojourn  in  London,  even  in 
winter,  a  terrestrial  paradise.  But, 
like  the  garden  of  Eden,  not  without 
dangers ;  for  the  too  much  delight  I 
took  in  out-of-doors  pastimes — and 
most  of  all  on  the  lake  when  it  was 
frozen,  and  we  had  merry  sports  upon 
it,  to  the  neglect  of  my  lessons,  not 
heeding  the  lapse  of  time  in  the  pur- 
suit of  pleasure — ^brought  me  into 
trouble  and  sore  disgrace.  My  grand- 
mother ordered  me  into  confinement 
for  three  days  in  my  own  chamber, 
and  I  saw  her  not  nor  received  her 
blessing  all  that  time;  at  the  end  of 
which  she  sharply  reproved  me  for 
my  fault,  and  bade  me  hold  in  mind 
that  'twas  when  loitering  in  a  garden 
Eve  met  the  tempter,  and  threatened 
further  and  severe  punishment  if  I 
appHed  not  dihgently  to  my  studies. 
When  I  had  knelt  down  and  begged 
pardon,  promising  amendment,  she 
drew  me  to  her  and  kissed  me,  which 
it  was  not  her  wont  often  to  do. 
*  Nan,'  she  said,  *  I  would  have  thee 
use  thy  natural  parts,  and  improve 
thyself  in  virtue  and  learning;  for 
such  is  the  extremity  of  the  times, 
that  ere  long  it  may  be  that  many 
first  shall  be  last  and  many  last  shall 
be  first  in  this  realm  of  England.  But 
virtue  and  learning  are  properties 
which  no  man  can  steal  from  another ; 
and  I  would  fain  see  thee  endowed 
with  a  goodly  store  of  both.  That 
great  man  and  true  confessor.  Sir 
Thomas  More,  had  nothing  so  much 
at  heart  as  his  daughter's  instmction ; 
and  Mistress  Margaret  Roper,  once 
my  sweet  friend,  though  some  years 
older  than  my  poor  self,  who  still 
laments  her  loss,  had  such  fine  things 
said  of  her  by  the  greatest  men  of' 
this  age,  as  would  astonish  thee  to 
hear ;  but  they  were  what  she  had  a 
right  to  and  veiy  well  deserved.  And 
the  strengthening  of  her  mind  through 
study  and  religious  disciplhie  served 


Constance  Sherwood* 


II 


her  well  at  the  time  of  her  groat 
trouble;  for  where  other  women 
v/ould  have  lacked  sense  and  courage 
how  to  act,  she  kept  her  wits  about 
her,  and  ministered  such  comfort  to 
her  father,  remaining  near  him  at  the 
last,  and  taking  note  of  his  wishes, 
and  finding  means  to  bury  hun  in  jj 
Christian  manner,  which  none  other 
durst  attempt,  that  she  had  occasion 
to  thank  God  who  gave  her  a  head  as 
well  as  a  heart.  And  who  knows. 
Nan,  what  may  befal  thee,  and  what 
need  thou  mayst  have  of  the  hke 
advantages  ? ' 

"  My  grandmother  looked  so  kindly 
on  me  then,  that,  albeit  abashed  at  the 
remembrance  of  my  fault,  I  sought  to 
move  her  to  further  discourse;  and 
knowing  what  great  pleasure  she  had 
in  speaking  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  at 
whose  house  in  Chelsea  she  had  often- 
times been  a  visitor  in  her  youth,  I 
enticed  her  to  it  by  cunning  questions 
touching  the  customs  he  observed  in 
his  family. 

"  '  Ah,  Nan !'  she  said,  '  that  house 
was  a  school  and  exercise  of  the 
Christian  rehgion.  There  was  neither 
man  nor  woman  in  it  who  was  not 
employed  in  liberal  discipline  and 
fniitful  reading,  although  the  principal 
study  was  religion.  There  was  no 
quarrelHng,  not  so  much  as  a  peevish 
word  to  be  heard ;  nor  was  any  one 
seen  idle;  all  were  in  their  several 
employs :  nor  was  there  wanting  sober 
mirth.  And  so  well-managed  a  gov- 
ernment Sir  Thomas  did  not  maintain 
by  severity  and  chiding,  but  by  gen- 
tleness and  kindness.' 

"Methought  as  she  said  this,  that 
my  dear  grandam  in  that  matter  of 
chiding  had  not  taken  a  leaf  out  of 
Sir  Thomas's  book ;  and  there  was  no 
doubt  a  transparency  in  my  face  which 
revealed  to  her  this  thought  of  mine ; 
for  she  straightly  looked  at  me  and 
.said,  '  Nan,  a  penny  for  thy  thoughts !' 
at  the  which  I  felt  myself  blushing, 
but  knew  nothing  would  serve  her  but 
the  truth ;  so  I  said,  in  as  humble  a 
manner  as  I  could  think  of,  'An  if 
you  will  excuse  me,  grandam,!  thought 


if  Sir  Thomas  managed  so  well  with- 
out chiding,  that  you  manage  well 
with  it.'  At  the  which  she  gave  me  .a 
light  nip  on  the  forehead,  and  said, 
'  Go  to,  child  ;  dost  thmk  that  any  but 
saints  can  rule  a  household  without 
chiding,  or  train  children  without  whip- 
ping ?  Go  thy  ways,  and  mend  them 
too,  if  thou  wouldst  escape  chastise- 
ment; and  take  with  thee.  Nan,  the 
words  of  one  whom  we  shall  never 
again  see  the  like  of  in  this  poor 
country,  which  he  used  to  his  wife  or 
any  of  his  children  if  they  were  dis- 
eased or  troubled,  "  We  must  not  look 
at  our  pleasures  to  go  to  heaven  in 
feather-beds,  or  to  be  carried  up  thither 
even  by  the  chins." '  And  so  she  dis- 
missed me  ;  and  I  have  here  set  down 
my  fault,  and  the  singular  goodness 
showed  me  by  my  grandmother  when 
it  was  pardoned,  not  thinking  I  can 
write  anything  better  worth  notice  than 
the  virtuous  talk  with  which  she  then 
favored  me. 

"There  is  in  this  house  a  chapel 
very  neat  and  rich,  and  an  ancient 
Catholic  priest  is  here,  who  says  mass 
most  days ;  at  the  which  we,  with  my 
grandmother,  assist,  and  such  of  her 
servants  as  have  not  conformed  to  the 
times ;  and  this  good  father  instructs 
us  in  the  principles  of  Catholic  re- 
ligion. On  the  eve  of  the  feast  of 
the  Nativity  of  Christ,  my  lady  stayed 
in  the  chapel  from  eight  at  night  till 
two  in  the  morning ; '  but  sent  us  to  bed 
at  nine,  after  the  litanies  were  said, 
until  eleven,  when  there  was  a  ser- 
mon, and  at  twelve  o'clock  three  mass- 
es said,  which  being  ended  we  broke 
our  fast  with  a  mince-pie,  and  went 
agam  to  bed.  And  all  the  Christmas- 
time we  were  allowed  two  hours  after 
each  meal  for  recreation,  instead  of 
one.  At  other  times,  we  play  not  at 
any  game  for  money ;  but  then  we 
had  a  shilling  a-piece  to  make  us 
merry ;  which  my  grandmother  says  is 
fitting  in  this  time  of  mirth  and  joy 
for  his  birth  who  is  the  sole  origin 
and  spring  of  true  comfort.  Aiid 
now,  sweet  Mistress  Constance,  I  must 
bid  you  farewell ;  for  the  greatest  of 


12 


Constance  Sucricood, 


joys  lias  befallen  me,  and  a  whole 
holiday  to  enjoy  it.  My  sweet  Lord 
Dacre  is  come  to  pay  his  duty  to  my 
lady  and  tarry  some  days  here,  on  his 
way  to  Thetford,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk's 
seat,  where  his  grace  and  the  duchess 
my  good  mother  have  removed.  He 
is  a  beauty,  Mistress  Constance ;  and 
nature  has  so  profusely  conferred  on 
him  privileges,  that  when  her  majesty 
the  queen  saw  him  a  short  time  back 
on  horseback,  in  the  park  at  Rich- 
mond, she  called  him  to  her  carriage- 
door  and  honored  him  with  a  kiss,  and 
the  motto  of  the  finest  boy  she  ever 
beheld.  But  I  may  not  run  on  in 
this  fashion,  letting  my  pen  outstrip 
modesty,  like  a  foolish  creature,  mak- 
ing my  brother  a  looking-glass  and 
continual  object  for  my  eyes ;  but 
learn  to  love  him,  as  my  grandam  says, 
in  God,  of  whom  he  is  only  borrowed, 
and  not  so  as  to  set  my  heart  wholly 
on  him.  So  beseeching  God  bless 
you  and  yours,  good  Mistress  Con- 
stance, I  ever  remain  your  loving 
riend  and  humble  servant, 

"  Ann  Dacre." 

Oh,  how  soon  were  my  Lady  Mount- 
eagle's  words  exalted  in  the  event! 
and  what  a  sad  brief  note  was  penned 
by  that  affectionate  sister  not  one 
month  after  she  writ  those  lines,  so 
full  of  hope  and  pleasure  in  the  pros- 
pect of  her  brother's  sweet  company ! 
For  the  fair  boy  that  was  the  continu- 
al object  of  her  eyes  and  the  dear 
comfort  of  her  heart  was  accidentally 
slain  by  the  fall  of  a  vaulting  horse 
upon  him  at  the  duke's  house  at  Thet- 
ford. 

"  Mt  good  Mistress  Constance" 
(she  wrote,  a  few  days  after  his  la- 
mentable death),  —  "The  lovingest 
brother  a  sister  ever  had,  and  the 
most  gracious  creature  ever  born,  is 
dead ;  and  if  it  pleased  Gt)d  I  wish  I 
were  dead  too,  for  my  heart  is  well- 
nigh  broken.  But  I  hope  in  God  his 
soul  is  now  in  heaven,  for  that  he  was 
so  young  and  innocent ;  and  when 
here,   a  short  time  ago,  my  grand- 


mother procured  that  ho  should  for  the 
first,  and  as  it  has  pleased  God  also 
for  the  only  and  the  last,  time,  confess 
and  be  absolved  by  a  Catholic  pries', 
in  the  which  the  hand  of  Provide  iic' 
is  visible  to  our  great  comfort,  a::d 
reasonable  hope  of  his  salvat:o;i. 
Commending  him  and  your  poor  friend, 
who  has  great  need  of  them,  to  your 
good  prayers,  I  remain  your  affection- 
ate and  humble  servant, 

"  Ann  Dacre." 

In  that  year  died  also,  in  childbirth, 
her  grace  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk, 
Mistress  Ann's  mother;  and  she  then 
wrote  in  a  less  passionate,  but  withal 
less  comfortable,  grief  than  at  her 
brother's  loss,  and,  as  I  have  heard 
since,  my  Lady  Mounteagle  had  her 
death-blow  at  that  time,  and  never 
lifted  up  her  head  again  as  heretofore. 
It  was  noticed  that  ever  after  she 
spent  more  time  in  prayer  and  gave 
greater  alms.  Her  daughter,  the 
duchess,  who  at  the  instance  of  her 
husband  had  conformed  to  the  times, 
desired  to  have  been  reconciled  on  her 
deathbed  by  a  priest,  who  for  that  end 
was  conducted  into  the  garden,  yel 
could  not  have  access  unto  her  by 
reason  of  the  duke's  vigilance  to  hin- 
der it,  or  at  least  of  his  continual 
presence  in  her  chamber  at  the  time. 
And  soon  after,  his  grace,  whose  wards 
they  were,  sent  for  his  three  step- 
daughters to  the  Charterhouse;  the 
parting  with  which,  and  the  fears  she 
entertained  that  he  would  have  them 
carried  to  services  and  sermons  in  the 
public  churches,  and  hinder  them  in 
the  exercise  of  Catholic  faith  and 
worship,  drove  the  sword  yet  deeper 
through  my  Lady  Mounteagle's  heart, 
and  brought  down  her  gray  hairs  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave,  notwithstanding 
that  the  duke  greatly  esteemed  and 
respected  her,  and  was  a  very  moral 
nobleman,  of  exceeding  good  tempo 
and  moderate  disposition.  But  o' 
this  more  anon,  as  'tis  my  own  liiston- 
I  am  writing,  and  it  is  meet  I  shou!  1 
relate  in  the  order  of  time  what  even  ." 
came  under  my  notice  whilst  in  Licli- 


Constance  Sherwood, 


13 


field,.wliither  my  mother  carried  me, 
as  has  been  aforesaid,  to  be  treated  by 
a  famous  physician  for  a  severe  hurt  I 
had  received.  It  was  deemed  con- 
venient that  I  should  tarry  some  time 
under  his  care ;  and  Mr.  Genings,  a 
Ivinsman  of  her  own,  who  with  his 
wife  and  children  resided  in  that  town, 
one  of  the  chiefest  in  the  county, 
offered  to  keep  me  in  their  house  as 
long  as  was  convenient  thereunto — a 
kindness  which  my  parents  the  more 
readily  accepted  at  his  hands  from 
their  having  often  shown  the  like  unto 
his  children  when  the  air  of  the  coun- 
try was  desired  for  them. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Genings  were  of  the 
religion  by  law  established.  He  was 
thought  to  be  Catholic  at  heart; 
albeit  he  was  often  heard  to  speak 
very  bitterly  against  all  who  obeyed 
not  the  queen  in  conforming  to  the 
new  mode  of  worship,  with  the  ex- 
ception, indeed,  of  my  mother,  for 
whom  he  had  always  a  truly  great 
affection.  This  gentleman's  house 
was  in  the  close  of  the  cathedral,  and 
had  a  garden  to  it  well  stored  with 
iair  shrubs  and  flowers  of  various 
sorts.  As  I  lay  on  a  low  settle  near 
the  window,  being  forbid  to  walk  for 
the  space  of  three  weeks,  my  eyes 
were  eVer  straying  from  my  sampler 
to  the  shade  and  sunshine  out  of 
doors.  Instead  of  plying  at  my  nee- 
dle, I  watched  the  bees  at  their  sweet 
labor  midst  the  honeysuckles  of  the 
porch,  or  the  swallows  darting  in  and 
out  of  the  eaves  of  the  cathedral,  or 
the  butterflies  at  their  idle  sports  over 
the  beds  of  mignonette  and  heliotrope 
under  the  low  wall,  covered  with  ivy, 
betwixt  the  garden  and  the  close. 
Mr.  Genings  had  two  sons,  the  eldest 
of  which  was  some  years  older  and 
the  other  younger  than  myself.  The 
first,  whose  name  was  Edmund,  had 
been  weakly  when  a  child,  and  by 
reason  of  this  a  frequent  sojourner  at 
Sherwood  Hall,  where  he  was  carried 
for  change  of  air  after  the  many  ill- 
nesses incident  to  early  age.  My 
mother,  who  was  some  years  married 
before  she  had  a  child  of  her  own, 


conceived  a  truly  maternal  afFectiou 
for  this  young  kinsman,  and  took 
much  pains  with  him  both  as  to  the 
care  of  his  body  and  the  training  of 
his  mind.  He  was  an  apt  pupil,  and 
she  had  so  happy  t,  manner  of  im- 
parting knowledge,  that  he  learnt 
more,  as  he  has  since  said,  in  those 
brief  sojourns  in  her  house  than  at 
school  from  more  austere  masters. 
After  I  came  into  the  world,  he  took 
delight  to  rock  me  in  my  cradle,  or 
play  with  me  as  I  sat  on  my  mother's 
knee ;  and  when  I  first  began  to  walk, 
he  would  lead  me  by  the  hand  into  the 
garden,  and  laugh  to  see  me  clutch 
marigolds  or  cry  for  a  sunflower. 

"  I  warrant  thou  hast  an  eye  to  gold. 
Con,"  he  would  say ;  "  for  'tis  the  yel- 
low flowers  that  please  thee  best." 

There  is  an  old  hollow  tree  on  the 
lawn  at  Sherwood  Hall  where  I  often 
hid  from  him  in  sport,  and  he  would 
make  pretence  to  seek  mo  elsewhere, 
till  a  laugh  revealed  me  to  him,  and  a 
chase  ensued  down  the  approach  or 
round  the  maze.  He  never  tired  of 
my  petulance,  or  spoke  rude  words,  as 
boys  are  wont  to  do ;  and  had  a  more 
serious  and  contemplative  spirit  than 
is  often  seen  in  young  people,  and  like- 
wise a  singular  fancy  for  gazing  at 
the  sky  when  glowing  with  sunset 
hues  or  darkened  by  stoiTQs,  and  most 
of  all  when  studded  at  night  with 
stars.  On  a  calm  clear  night  I  have 
noticed  him  for  a  length  of  time,  for- 
getting all  things  else,  fix  his  eyes  on 
the  heavens,  as  if  reading  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  therein  revealed. 

My  parents  did  not  speak  to  him  of 
Catholic  faith  an^  worship,  because 
Mr.  Genings,  before  he  suffered  his 
sons  to  stay  in  their  house,  had  made 
them  promise  that  no  talk  of  religion 
should  be  ministered  to  them  in  their 
childhood.  It  was  a  sore  trial  to  my 
mother  to  refrain,  as  the  Psalmist  saith, 
from  good  words,  which  were  ever 
rising  from  her  heart  to  her  lips,  as 
pure  water  from  a  deep  spring.  But 
she  instructed  him  in  many  things 
which  belong  to  gentle  learning,  and 
in  French,  which  she  knew  vrell ;  and 


H 


Conslance  Sherwood. 


taught  him  mnsic,  in  which  he  made 
great  progress.  And  this  wrought 
with  his  father  to  the  furtherance  of 
these  his  visits  to  us.  I  doubt  not  but 
that,  when  she  told  him  the  names  of 
the  heavenly  luminaries,  she  inwardly 
prayed  he  might  one  day  shine  as  a 
star  in  the  kingdom  of  God ;  or  when 
she  discoursed  of  flowers  and  their 
properties,  that  he  should  blossom  as  a 
rose  in  the  wilderness  of  this  faithless 
world ;  or  whilst  guiding  his  hands  to 
play  on  the  clavichord,  that  he  might 
one  day  join  in  the  glorious  harmony 
of  the  celestial  choirs.  Her  face  itself 
was  a  preachment,  and  the  tones  of 
her  voice,  and  the  tremulous  sighs  she 
breathed  when  she  kissed  him  or  gave 
him  her  blessing,  had,  I  ween,  a  privi- 
lege to  reach  his  heart,  the  goodness  of 
which  was  readable  in  his  countenance. 
Dear  Edmund  Genings,  thou  wert  in- 
deed a  brother  to  me  in  kind  care  and 
companionship  whilst  I  stayed  in  Lich- 
field that  never-to-be-forgotten  year! 
How  gently  didst  thou  minister  to  the 
sick  child,  for  the  first  time  tasting  the 
cup  of  suffering ;  now  easing  her  head 
with  a  soft  pillow,  now  strewing  her 
couch  with  fresh-gathered  flowers,  oc 
feeding  her  with  fruit  which  had  the 
bloom  on  it,  or  taking  her  hand  and 
holding  it  in  thine  own  to  cheer  her  to 
endurance !  Thou  wert  so  patient  and 
so  loving,  both  with  her  who  was  a 
great  trouble  to  thee  and  oftentimes 
fretful  with  pain,  and  likewise  with 
thine  own  little  brother,  an  angel  in 
beauty  and  wit,  but  withal  of  so  petu- 
lant and  froward  a  disposition  that 
none  in  the  house  durst  contradict  him, 
child  as  he  was ;  for  his  parents  were 
indeed  weak  in  their  fondness  for  him. 
In  no  place  and  at  no  time  have  I  seen 
a  boy  80  indulged  and  so  caressed  as 
this  John  Genings.  He  had  a  pretty 
wilfulness  and  such  playful  ways  that 
his  very  faults  found  favor  with  those 
who  should  have  corrected  them,  and 
he  got  praise  where  others  would  have 
met  with  chastisement.  Edmund's 
love  for  this  fair  urchin  wae  such  as 
is  seldom  seen  in  any  save  in  a  parent 
for  a  child.    It  was  laughable  to  see 


the  lovely  imp  governing  or.e  who 
should  have  been  his  master,  but 
through  much  love  was  his  slave,  and 
in  a  thousand  cunning  ways,  and  by 
fanciful  tricks,  constraining  him  to  do 
his  bidding.  Never  was  a  more  way- 
ward spirit  enclosed  in  a  more  win- 
some form  than  in  John  Genings. 
Never  did  childish  gracefulness  rule 
more  absolutely  over  superior  age,  or 
love  reverse  the  conditions  of  ordinary 
supremacy,  than  in  the  persons  of  these 
two  brothers. 

A  strange  thing  occurred  at  that 
time,  which  I  witnessed  not  myself, 
and  on  which  I  can  give  no  opinion, 
but  as  a  fact  will  here  set  it  down,  and 
let  such  as  read  this  story  deem  of  it 
as  they  please.  One  night  that,  by 
reason  of  the  unwonted  chilliness  of 
the  evening,  such  as  sometimes  occura 
in  our  climate  even  in  summer,  a  fire 
had  been  lit  in  the  parlor,  and  the 
family  were  gathered  round  it,  Ed- 
mund came  of  a  sudden  into  the  room, 
and  every  one  took  notice  that  his  face 
was  very  pale.  He  seemed  in  a  great 
fear,  and  whispered  to  his  mother, 
who  said  aloud — "  Thou  must  have 
been  asleep,  and  art  still  dreaming, 
child."  Upon  which  he  was  very  ur- 
gent for  her  to  go  into  the  garden,  and 
used  many  entreaties  thereunto.  Upon 
X^hich,  at  last,  she  rose  and  followed 
him.  In  another  moment  she  called 
for  her  husband,  who  went  out,  and 
with  him  three  or  four  other  persons 
that  were  in  the  room,  and  I  remained 
alone  for  the  space  of  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes.  When  they  returned,  I  heard 
them  speaking  with  great  fear  and 
amazement  of  what  they  had  seen ;  and 
Edmund  Genings  has  often  since  de- 
scribed to  me  what  he  first,  and  after- 
ward all  the  others,  had  beheld  in  the 
sky.  He  was  gazing  at  the  heavens, 
as  was  his  wont,  when  a  strange  spec- 
tacle appeared  to  him  in  the  air.  As 
it  were,  a  number  of  armed  men  with 
weapons,  kilhng  and  murdering  others 
that  were  disarmed,  and  great  store  of 
blood  running  everywhere  about  them. 
His  parents  and  those  with  them  wit- 
nessed the  same  thing,  and  a  great 


Constance  Sherwood. 


15 


fear  foil  upon  tfiem  all.  I  noticed 
that  all  that  evening  they  seemed 
scared,  and  could  not  speak  of  this 
appearance  in  the  sky  without  shud- 
dering. But  one  that  was  more  bold 
than  the  rest  took  heart,  and  cried, 
"  God  send  it  does  not  forbode  that 
the  Papists  will  murder  us  all  in  our 
beds !"  And  Mistress  Genings,  whose 
mother  was  a  French  Huguenot,  said, 
"  Amen  !'*  I  marked  that  her  hus- 
band and  one  or  two  more  of  the 
company  groaned,  and  one  made,  as 
if  unwittingly,  the  sign  of  the  cross. 
There  were  some  I  know  in  that  town, 
nay  and  in  that  house,  that  were  at 
heart  of  the  old  religion,  albeit,  by 
reason  of  the  times,  they  did  not  give 
over  attending  Protestants'  worship. 

A  few  days  later  I  was  sitting  alone, 
and  had  a  long  fit  of  musing  over  the 
many  new  thoughts  that  were  crowd- 
ing into  my  mind,  as  yet  too  childish 
to  master  them,  when  Edmund  came 
in,  and  I  saw  he  had  been  weeping. 
He  said  nothing  at  first,  and  made 
believe  he  was  reading ;  but  I  could 
see  tears  trickling  down  through  his 
fingers  as  he  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  Presently  he  looked  up 
and  cried  out, 

"  Cousin  Constance,  Jack  is  going 
away  from  us." 

"  And  if  it  please  God,  not  for  a 
long  time,"  I  answered;  for  it  grieved 
me  to  see  him  sad. 

"Nay,  but  he  is  going  for  many 
years,  I  fear,"  Edmund  said.  "My 
uncle,  Jean  de  Luc,  has  asked  for  him 
to  be  brought  up  in  his  house  at  La 
Rochelle.  He  is  his  godfather,  and 
has  a  great  store  of  money,  which  he 
says  he  will  leave  to  Jack.  Alack! 
cousin  Constance,  I  would  that  there 
was  no  such  thing  in  the  world  as 
money,  and  no  such  country  as  Fraace. 
I  wish  we  were  all  dead."  And  then 
he  fell  to  weeping  again  very  bitterly. 

I  told  him  in  a  childish  manner 
what  my  mother  was  wont  to  say  to 
me  when  any  little  trouble  fell  to  my 
lot — ^that  we  should  be  patient,  and 
offer  up  our  sufferings  to  God. 

"  But   I   can   do  nothinnj  now  for 


Jack,"  he  cried.  "  It  was  my  first 
thought  at  waking  and  my  last  at 
night,  how  to  please  the  dear  urchin ; 
but  now  'tis  all  over." 

"  Oh,  but  Edmund,"  I  cried,  "  an  if 
you  were  to  be  as  good  as  the  blessed 
saints  in  heaven,  you  could  do  a  gi'eat 
deal  for  Jack." 

"  How  so,  cousin  Constance  ?"  he 
asked,  not  comprehending  my  mean- 
ing ;  and  thereupon  I  answered  : 

"  When  once  I  said  to  my  sweet 
mother,  *It  grieves  me,  dear  heart, 
that  I  can  give  thee  nothing,  who 
gives  me  so  much,'  she  bade  me  take 
heed  that  every  prayer  we  say,  every 
good  work  we  do,  howsoever  imper- 
fect, and  every  pain  we  suffer,  may  be 
offered  up  for  those  we  love ;  and  so 
out  of  poverty,  and  weakness,  and 
sorrow,  we  have  Avherewith  to  make 
precious  and  costly  and  cheerful  gifts." 

I  spoke  as  a  child,  repeating  what  I 
had  heard;  but  he  listened  not  as  a 
child.  A  sudden  light  came  into  his 
eyes,  and  metliinks  his  good  angel 
showed  him  in  that  hour  more  than 
my  poor  lips  could  utter. 

"If  it  be  as  your  sweet  mother 
says,"  he  joyfully  cried,  "we  are  rich 
indeed ;  and,  even  though  we  be  sin- 
ners and  not  saints,  we  have  some- 
what to  give,  I  ween,  if  it  be  only  our 
heartaches,  cousin  Constance,  so  they 
be  seasoned  with  prayers." 

The  thought  which  in  my  simplicity 
I  had  set  before  him  took  root,  as  it 
were,  in  his  mind.  His  love  for  a 
little  child  had  prepared  the  way  for 
it;  and  the  great  brotherly  affection 
wliich  had  so  long  dwelt  in  his  heart 
proved  a  harbinger  of  the  more  per- 
fect gift  of  charity ;  so  that  a  heaven- 
ly message  was  perchance  conveyed 
to  him  that  day  by  one  who  likewise 
was  a  child,  even  as  the  word  of  tho 
Lord  came  to  the  prophet  through  the 
lips  of  the  infant  Samuel.  From  that 
time  forward  he  bore  up  bravely 
against  his  grief;  which  was  the 
sharper  inasmuch  that  he  who  was  the 
cause  of  it  showed  none  in  return,  but 
rather  joy  in  the  expectancy  of  the 
change  which  was  to  part  them.     He 


i6 


Constance  Sherwood. 


would  still  be  a-prattling  on  it,  and 
telling  all  who  came  in  his  way  that 
he  was  going  to  France  to  a  good 
uncle ;  nor  ever  intended  to  return,  for 
his  mother  was  to  carry  him  to  La 
Rochelle,  and  she  should  stay  there 
with  him,  he  said,  and  not  come  back 
to  ugly  Lichfield. 

"  And  art  thou  not  sorry,  Jack,"  I 
asked  him  one  day,  "  to  leave  poor  Ed- 
mund, who  loves  thee  so  well  ?" 

The  little  madcap  was  coursing 
round  the  room,  and  cried,  as  he  ran 
past  me,  for  he  had  more  wit  and 
spirit  than  sense  or  manners : 

"  Edmund  must  seek  after  me,  and 
take  pains  to  find  me,  if  so  be  he  would 
have  me." 

These  words,  which  the  boy  said  in 
his  play,  have  often  come  back  to  my 
mind  since  the  two  brothers  have  at- 
tained unto  a  happy  though  dissimilar 
end. 

When  the  time  had  arrived  for  Mis- 
tress Genings  and  her  youngest  son 
to  go  beyond  seas,  as  I  was  now  im- 
proved in  health  and  able  to  walk,  my 
father  fetched  me  home,  and  prevailed 
on  Mr.  Genings  to  let  Edmund  go 
back  with  us,  with  the  intent  to  divert 
his  mind  from  his  grief  at  his  brother's 
departure. 

I  found  my  parents  greatly  dis- 
turbed at  the  news  they  had  had 
touching  the  imprisonment  of  thirteen 
priests  on  account  of  religion,  and  of 
Mr.  Orton  being  likewise  arrested, 
who  was  a  gentleman  very  dear  to 
them  for  liis  great  virtues  and  the 
steadfast  friendship  he  had  ever  shown 
to  them. 

My  mother  questioned  Edmund  as 
to  the  sign  he  had  seen  in  the  heavens 
a  short  time  back,  of  which  the  report 
had  reached  them  ;  and  he  confirming 
the  truth  thereof,  she  clasped  her 
hands  and  cried : 

"  Then  I  fear  me  much  this  fore- 
bodes the  death  of  these  blessed  con- 
fessors. Father  Weston  and  the  rest." 

Upon  which  Edmund  said,  in  a 
humble  manner : 

"  Good  Mistress  Sherwood,  my  dear 
mother  thought  it  signified  that  those 


of  your  religion  would  murder  in  their 
beds  such  as  are  of  the  queen's  re- 
ligion ;  so  maybe  in  both  cases  there 
is  naught  to  apprehend." 

"  My  good  child,"  my  mother  an- 
swered, "  in  regard  of  those  now  in 
durance  for  their  faith,  the  danger  is 
so  manifest,  that  if  it  please  not  the 
Almighty  to  work  a  miracle  for  their 
dehverance,  I  see  not  how  they  may 
escape." 

After  that  we  sat  awhile  in  silence ; 
my  father  reading,  my  mother  and  I 
working,  and  Edmund  at  the  window 
intent  as  usual  upon  the  stars,  which 
were  shining  one  by  one  in  the  deep 
azure  of  the  darkening  sky.  As  one 
of  greater  brightness  than  the  rest 
shone  through  the  branches  of  the  old 
tree,  where  I  used  to  hide  some  years 
before,  he  pointed  to  it,  and  said  to  me, 
who  was  sitting  nearest  to  him  at  the 
window : 

"  Cousin  Constance,  think  you  the 
Star  of  Bethkhem  showed  fairer  in 
the  skies  than  yon  bright  star  that  has 
just  risen  behind  your  favorite  oak? 
What  and  if  that  star  had  a  message 
for  us !" 

My  father  heard  him,  and  smiled. 
"  I  was  even  then,"  he  said,  "  reading 
the  words  of  one  who  was  led  to  the 
true  rehgion  by  the  contemplation  of 
the  starry  skies.  In  a  Southern  chme, 
where  those  fair  luminaries  shine  with 
more  splendor  than  in  our  Northern 
heavens,  St.  Augustine  wrote  thus ;" 
and  then  he  read  a  few  sentences  in 
Latin  from  the  book  in  his  hand, — 
"  Raising  ourselves  up,  we  passed  by 
degrees  through  all  things  bodily,  even 
the  very  heavens,  whence  sun  and 
moon  and  stars  shine  upon  the  earth. 
Yea,  we  soared  yet  higher  by  inward 
musing  and  discourse  and  admiring  of 
God's  works,  and  we  came  to  our  own 
minds  and  went  beyond  them,  so  as  to 
arrive  at  that  region  of  never-failing 
plenty  where  thou  feedest  Israel  for 
ever  with  the  food  of  truth."  These 
words  had  a  sweet  and  solemn  force  in 
them  which  struck  on  the  car  hkc  a 
strain  of  unearthly  music,  such  as  the 
wind-harji  wakes  in  the  silence  of  the 


Constance  Shenoood, 


1/ 


night.  In  a  low  voice,  so  low  that  it 
vras  like  the  breathing  of  a  sigh,  I 
heard  Edmund  saj,  "  What  is  truth?" 
But  when  he  had  uttered  those  words, 
straightway  turning  toward  mc  as  if  to 
divert  his  thoughts  from  that  too  pithy- 
question,  he  cried :  "  Prithee,  cousin 
Constance,  hast  thou  ended  reading,  I 
warrant  for  the  hundredth  time,  that 
letter  in  thine  hand  ?  and  hast  thou  not 
a  mind  to  impart  to  thy  poor  kinsman 
the  sweet  conceits  I  doubt  not  are 
therein  contained  ?"  I  could  not  choose 
but  smile  at  his  speech ;  for  I  had 
indeed  feasted  my  eyes  on  the  hand- 
writing of  my  dear  friend,  now  no 
longer  Mistress  Dacre,  and  learnt  off, 
as  it  were  by  heart,  its  contents.  And 
albeit  I  refused  at  first  to  comply  with 
his  request,  which  I  had  secretly  a 
mind  to ;  no  sooner  did  he  give  over 
the  urging  of  it  than  I  stole  to  his 
Bide,  and,  though  I  would  by  no  means 
let  it  out  of  my  hand,  and  folded  down 
one  side  of  the  sheet  to  hide  what  was 
private  in  it,  I  offered  to  read  such 
parts  aloud  as  treated  of  matters 
which  might  be  spoken  of  without 
hindrance. 

With  a  smiling  countenance,  then, 
he  set  himself  to  listen,  and  I  to  be  the 
mouthpiece  of  the  dear  writer,  whose 
wit  was  so  far  in  advance  of  her  years, 
as  I  have  since  had  reason  to  observe, 
never  having  met  at  any  time  with  one 
in  v/hom  wisdom  put  forth  such  early 
shoots. 

"  Dear  Mistress  Constance  " 
(thus  the  sweet  lady  wrote), — 
"  Wherefore  this  long  silence  and  neg- 
lect of  your  poor  friend  ?  An  if  it  be 
true,  which  pains  me  much  to  hear, 
that  the  good  limb  which,  together 
with  its  fellow,  like  tvv^o  trusty  foot- 
men, carried  you  so  well  and  nimbly 
along  the  alleys  of  your  garden  this 
time  la?t  year,  has,  like  an  arrant 
loiave,  x^layed  fast  and  loose,  and  failed 
in  its  good  service, — wherein,  I  am 
told,  you  have  suffered  much  incon- 
venience,— is  it  just  that  that  other  ser- 
vant, your  hand,  should  prove  rebel- 
lious too,  refuse  to  perform  its  office, 


and  write  no  more  letters  at  your  bid- 
ding? For  I'll  warrant  'tis  the  hand 
is  the  culprit,  not  the  will ;  which  nev- 
ertheless should  be  master,  and  com- 
pel it  to  obedience.  So,  an  you  love 
me,  chide  roundly  that  contumacious 
hand,  which  fails  in  its  duty,  which 
should  not  be  troublesome,  if  you  bur 
had  for  me  one-half  of  the  affection  I 
have  for  you.  And  indeed,  Mistress 
Constance,  a  letter  from  you  would  be 
to  me,  at  this  time,  the  welcomest 
thing  I  can  think  of;  for  since  we  left 
my  grandmother's  seat,  and  came  to 
the  Charterhouse,  I  have  new  friends, 
and  many  more  and  greater  than  I  de- 
serve or  ever  thought  to  have;  but, 
by  reason  of  difference  of  age  or  of 
religion,  they  are  not  such  as  I  can 
well  open  my  mind  to,  as  I  might  to 
you,  if  it  pleased  God  we  should  meet 
again.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk  is  ;i 
very  good  lord  and  father  to  me  ;  bu" 
when  there  are  more  ways  of  thinking 
than  one  in  a  house,  'tis  no  easy  mat- 
ter to  2^1ease  all  which  have  a  right  to 
be  considered ;  and,  in  the  matter  of 
religion,  'tis  very  hard  to  avoid  giving 
offence.  But  no  more  of  this  at  pres- 
ent; only  I  would  to  God  Mr.  Fox 
were  beyond  seas,  and  my  lady  of 
Westmoreland  at  her  home  in  th(^ 
North ;  and  that  we  had  no  worse  com- 
pany in  this  house  than  Mr.  Martin, 
my  Lord  Surrey's  tutor,  who  is  a  gentle- 
man of  great  learning  and  knowledge, 
as  every  one  says,  andof  extraordinaiy 
modesty  in  his  behavior.  My  Lord 
Surrey  has  a  truly  great  regard  for 
him,  and  profits  much  in  his  learning 
by  his  means,  I  notice  he  is  Catholic 
in  his  judgment  and  affections ;  and 
my  lord  says  he  will  not  stay  with  him, 
if  his  grace  his  father  procures  minis- 
ters to  preach  to  his  household  and 
family,  and  obliges  all  therein  to  fre- 
quent Protestant  service.  I  wish  my 
grandmother  was  in  London ;  for  I  am 
sometimes  sore  troubled  in  my  mind 
touching  Catholic  religion  and  con- 
formmg  to  the  times,  of  which  an 
abundance  of  talk  is  ministered  unto 
us,  to  my  exceeding  gi'cat  discomfort, 
by  my  Lady  Westmoreland,  his  grace's 


18 


Consianc2  S'lerwoo d. 


sister,  and  othsrs  also.  An  if  I  say 
aught  thereon  to  Mistress  Fawcett  (a 
grave  and  ancient  gentlewoman,  who 
had  the  care  of  my  Lord  Surrey  du- 
ring his  infancy,  and  is  now  set  over 
us  his  grace's  wards),  and  of  mlsliking 
the  duke's  ministers  and  that  pestilent 
Mr.  Fox — (I  fear  me.  Mistress  Con- 
stance, I  should  not  have  writ  that  un- 
beseeming word,  and  I  will  e'en  draw 
a  line  across  it,  but  still  as  you  may 
read  it — for  indeed  'tis  what  he  is ; 
but  'tis  from  himself  I  learnt  it,  who 
in  his  sermons  calls  Catholic  religion  a 
pestilent  idolatry,  and  Catholic  priests 
pestilent  teachers  and  servants  of  An- 
tichrist, and  the  holy  Pope  at  Rome 
the  man  of  sin) — she  grows  uneasy, 
and  bids  me  be  a  good  child  to  her,  and 
not  to  bring  her  into  trouble  with  his 
grace,  who  is  inde«d  a  very  good  lord 
to  us  in  all  matters  but  that  one  of 
eompelling  us  to  hear  sermons  and  the 
like.  My  Lord  Surrey  mislikes  all 
kinds  of  sermons,  and  loves  Mr.  Mar- 
tin so  well,  that  he  stops  his  ears  when 
Mr.  Fox  preaches  on  the  dark  mid- 
night of  papacy  and  the  dawn  of  the 
gospel's  restored  light.  And  it  angers 
him,  as  well  it  should,  to  hear  him 
eall  his  majesty  King  Philip  of  Spain, 
who  is  his  own  godfather,  from  whom 
he  received  his  name,  a  wicked  popish 
tyrant  and  a  son  of  Antichrist.  My 
Lady  Margaret,  his  sister,  who  is  a 
year  younger  than  himself,  and  has  a 
most  admirable  beauty  and  excellent 
good  nature,  is  vastly  taken  with  what 
she  hears  from  me  of  Catholic  reli- 
gion ;  but  methinks  this  is  partly  by 
reason  of  her  misliking  Mr.  Fulk  and 
Mr.  Clarke's  long  preachments,  which 
we  are  compelled  to  hearken  to  ;  and 
their  fashion  of  spending  Sunday, 
which  they  do  call  the  Sabbath-day, 
wherein  we  must  needs  keep  silence, 
and  when  not  in  church  sit  still  at 
home,  which  to  one  of  her  lively  dis- 
I)osition  is  heavy  penance.  Methinks 
when  Sunday  comes  wc  be  all  in  dis- 
grace ;  'tis  so  like  a  day  of  correction. 
My  Lord  Surrey  has  more  liberty; 
for  Mr.  Martin  carries  him  and  his 
brothers  after  service  into  the  pleasant 


fields  about  WesimlnsLer  Abbey  and 
the  village  of  Charing  Cross,  and  suf- 
fers them  to  play  at  ball  under  the 
trees,  so  they  do  not  quarrel  amongst 
themselves.  My  Lord  Henry  How- 
ard, his  grace's  brother,  always  main- 
tains and  defends  the  Catholic  religion 
against  his  sister  of  Westmoreland; 
and  he  spoke  to  my  uncles  Leonard, 
Edward,  and  Francis,  and  likewise  to 
my  aunt  Lady  Montague,  that  they 
should  write  unto  my  grandmother 
touehing  his  grace  bringing  us  up  ai 
Protestants.  ""But  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk, Mrs.  Fawcett  says,  is  our  guar- 
dian, and  she  apprehends  he  is  re- 
solved that  we  shall  conform  to  the 
times,  and  that  no  liberty  be  allowed 
us  for  the  exercise  of  Catholic  reli- 
gion." 

At  this  part  of  the  letter  I  stopped 
reading  ;  and  Edmund,  turning  to  my 
father,  who,  though  he  before  had 
perused  it,  was  also  listening,  said: 
"  And  if  this  be  liberty  of  conscience, 
which  Protestants  speak  of,  I  see  no 
great  liberty  and  no  great  conscience 
in  the  matter." 

His  cheek  flushed  as  he  spoke,  and 
there  was  a  hoarseness  in  his  voice 
which  betokened  the  working  of  strong 
feelings  within  him.  My  father  smiled 
with  a  sort  of  pitiful  sadness,  and 
answered : 

'•  My  good  boy,  when  thou  art  some- 
Avhat  further  advanced  in  years,  thou 
wilt  learn  that  the  two  words  thou  art 
speaking  of  arc  such  as  men  have 
abused  the  meaning  of  more  than  any 
others  that  can  be  thouglit  of;  and  I 
pray  to  God  they  do  not  continue  to  do 
so  as  long  as  the  -svorld  lasts.  It  seem^ 
to  me  that  they  mostly  mean  by  '  lib- 
erty' a  freedom  to  compel  others  to 
think  and  to  act  as  they  have  theln- 
selves  a  mind  to  ;  and  by  '  conscience,' 
the  promptings  of  their  own  judgments 
moved  by  their  own  passions.'i 

"  But ''tis  hard,"  Edmund  said,  "'tis 
at  times  very  hard,  Mr.  Sherwood, 
to  know  whereunto  conscience  points, 
in  the  midst  of  so  many  inward  clam- 
ors as  are  raised  in  the  soul  by  con- 
flicting  passions   of   dutiful   affection 


Constance  Sherwood, 


9 


and  filial  reverence  struggling  for  the 
masterj.  Ay,  and  no  visible  token  of 
God's  will  to  make  that  darkness  light. 
*Tis  that,"  he  cried,  more  moved  as  he 
went  on,  "  that  makes  me  so  often  gaze 
upward.  Would  to  God  1  might  see 
n  sign  in  the  skies  !  for  there  are  no 
sign-posts  on  life's  path  to  guide  us  on 
OLir  way  to  the  heavenly  Jerusalem, 
which  our  ministers  speak  of." 

"  If  thou  diligently  seekest  for  sign- 
posts, my  good  boy,"  my  father  an- 
swered, "fear  not  but  that  he  who 
said,  '  Seek,  and  you  shall  find,'  v/ill 
furnish  thee  with  them.  He  has  not 
left  himself  without  witnesses,  or  his 
religion  to  be  groped  after  in  hopeless 
darkness,  so  that  men  may  not  discern, 
even  in  these  troublous  times,  where 
the  truth  lies,  so  they  be  in  earnest  in 
their  search  after  it.  But  I  will  not 
urge  thee  by  the  cogency  of  arguments, 
or  be  drawn  out  of  the  reserve  I  have 
hitherto  observed  in  these  matters, 
which  be  nevertheless  the  mightiest 
that  can  be  thought  of  as  regards  the 
soul's  health." 

And  so,  breaking  off  this  discourse,  ' 
he  walked  out  upon  the  terrace ;  and 
I  withdrew  to  the  table,  where  my 
inother  was  sitting,  and  once  more 
conned  over  the  last  pages  of  m^  lady's 
letter,  which,  when  the  reader  hath 
read,  he  will  perceive  the  writer's  rank 
and  her  right  to  be  thus  titled. 

"And  now,  Mistress  Constance,  I 
must  needs  inform  you  of  a  matter  I 
would  not  leave  you  ignorant  of,  so 
that  you  should  learn  from  strangers 
what  so  nearly  concerns  one  whom  you 
have  a  friendship  to — and  that  is  my 
betrothal  with  my  Lord  Surrey.  The 
ceremony  was  public,  inasmuch  as  was 
needful  for  the  solemnising  of  a  con- 
tract which  is  binding  for  life — '  until 
death  us  do  part,'  as  the  marriage  ser- 
vice hath  it. .  How  great  a  change  this 
lias  wrought  in  my  thoughts,  none 
knows  but  myself ;  for  though  I  be  but 
twelve  years  of  age  (for  his  grace 
would  have  the  ceremony  to  take 
l)lac3  on  my  birthday),  one  year  older 
than  yourself,  and  so  lately  a  child 
that   not  a  very  long   tmie   ago   my 


grandmother  would  chastise  me  with 
her  own  hands  lor  my  faults,  I  now  am 
wedclcd  to  my  youiig  lord,  and  by  lil.s 
grace  and  all  the  household  titled 
Countess  of  Surrey !  And  I  thank 
God  to  be  no  worse  mated  ;  for  my 
lord,  who  is  a  few  months  younger  thim 
me,  and  a  very  child  for  fi-olicksoine 
spirits  and  wild  mirth,  has,  notwith- 
standing, so  great  a  pleasantness  of 
manners  and  so  forward  a  v/it,  that  one 
must  needs  have  pleasure  in  his  com- 
pany ;  and  I  only  wish  I  had  more  of  it. 
Whilst  we  were  only  friends  and  play- 
mates, I  used  to  chide  and  withstand 
him,  as  one  older  and  one  more  staid 
and  discreet  than  himself;  but,  ah  me ! 
since  we  have  been  wedded,  'tis  grand 
to  hear  him  discourse  on  the  duty  of 
wives,  and  quote  the  Bible  to  show  they 
must  obey  their  husbands.  He  carries 
it  in  a  very  lordly  fashion  ;  and  if  I 
comply  not  at  once  with  his  commands, 
he  cries  out  what  he  has  heard  at  tlic 
play-house : 

*  Such  duty  as  the  subject  ovres  the  priaco 
Even  such  a  woman  oweth  to  her  husband  ; 
And  when  she's  froward,  peevish  sullen,  soT-.r. 
And  not  obedient  to  his  honest  will. 
What  is  she  but  a  foul  contending  rebel 
And  graceless  traitor  to  her  loving  lord  ? 
I  am  ashamed  that  women  are  so  simple 
To  offer  war  where  thoy  should  kneel  for  peacs  ; 
Or  seek  for  rule,  supremacy,  or  sway, 
Where  they  are  bound  to  ssrve,  love,  and  obey.' 

He  has  a  most  excellent  memory.  1/ 
lie  has  but  once  heard  out  of  any  En- 
glish or  Latin  book  so  much  read  as  i.; 
contained  in  a  leaf,  he  will  forthwith 
perfectly  repeat  it.  My  Lord  Henry, 
his  uncle,  for  a  trial,  invented  twenty 
long  and  difficult  words  a  few  daya 
back,  which  he  had  never  seen  or  heard 
before  ;  yet  did  he  recite  them  readily, 
every  one  in  the  same  order  as  they 
were  written,  having  only  once  read 
th^m  over.  But,  touching  that  matter 
of  obedience,  which  I^care  not  to  gain- 
say, 'tis  not  easy  at  present  to  obey  my 
lord  my  husband,  and  his  grace  his 
father,  and  Mistress  Fawcett,  too,  who 
holds  as  strict  a  hand  over  the  Coun:- 
ess  of  Surrey  as  over  Mistress  Ann 
Dacre ;  for  the  commands  of  these 
my  rulers  do  not  at  all  times  accord  : 
but  I  pray  to  God  I  may  do  my  duty, 
and  be  a  good  wife  to  my  lord  ;  and  I 


20 


Cjn3'.a;iC'3  Sherwood. 


wish,  as  I  said  before,  my  graiidmolhcr 
had  been  here,  and  that  I  had  been 
favored  with  her  good  counsel,  and 
iiad  had  the  benefit  of  shrift  and 
spiritual  advice  ere  I  entered  on  this 
stage  of  my  life,  which  is  so  new  to  me, 
who  was  but  a  cliild  a  few  weeks  ago, 
and  am  yet  treated  as  such  irj  more 
respects  than  one. 

"  My  lord  has  told  me  a  secret  which 
Higford.  his  father's  servant,  let  out  to 
him;  and  'tis   something  so  weighty 
and  of  so  great  import,  that  since  he 
left  me  my  thoughts  have  been  truants 
from  my  iDooks,  and  Monsieur  Sebas- 
tian, who  comes  to  practice  us  on  the 
lute,  stoi:>ped  his  ears,  and  cried  out 
that  the  Signora  Contessa  had  no  mer- 
cy on  him,  so  to  murther  his  composi- 
tions.    'Tis  not  the  part  of  a  true  wife 
to  reveal  her  husband's  secrets,  or  else 
I  would  tell  you,  Mistress  Constance, 
this   great   news,   which   I   can  with 
trouble  keep  to  myself;  and  I  shall 
not  be  easy  till  I  have  seen  my  lord 
again,  v/hich  should  be  when  we  walk 
in  the  garden  tliis  evening ;  but  I  pray 
to  God  he  may  not  be  off  instead  to 
the  Mall,  to  play  at  kittlepins ;  for  then 
I  have  small  chance  to  get  speech  with 
him  to-day.     Mr.  Martin  is  my  very 
good  friend,  and  reminds  the  earl  of 
his   duty  to  his  lady;  but  if  my  lord 
comes  at  his  bidding,  when  he  would 
be  elsewhere  than  in  my  company,  'tis 
little  contentment  I  have  in  his  visits. 
"  'Tis  yesterday  I  writ  thus  much, 
and  now  'tis  the  day  to  send  this  let- 
ter; and  I  saw  not  my  lord  last  night 
by  reason  of  his  grandfather  my  Lord 
Arundel  sending  to  fetch  me  unto  his 
house  in  the  Strand.     His  goodness  to 
me  is  so  great,  that  nothing  more  can 
be  desired ;  and  his  daughter  my  Lady 
Lumley  is  the  greatest  comfort  I  have 
in  the  world.     She  showed  me  a  fair 
picture  of  my  lord's  mother,  who  died 
the  day  he  was  born,  not  then  full 
seventeen  years  of  age.     She  was  of 
so  amiable  a  disposition,  so  prudent, 
virtuous,  and  religious,  that  all  who 
knew  her  could  not  but  love  and  es- 
leem  hei-.     And  I  read  a  letter  whic-i 
this  sweet  lady  had  writtei:  ii.  Latin 


to  lier  father  on  his  birthday,  to  his 
great  contentment,  who  had  procured 
her  to  bo  well  instructed  in  that  lan- 
guage, as  well  as  in  her  own  and  ia 
all   commendable   learning.     Then   I 
played  at  primero  with  my  Lord  Arun- 
del and   my  Lady  Lumley  and  my 
uncle  Francis.     The  knave  of  hearts 
Avas  fixed  upon  for  the  quinola,  and  I 
won   the   flush.      My  uncle  Francis 
cried  the  winning  card  should  be  titled 
Dudley.     '  Not   so,'   quoth  the   earl ; 
'  the  knave  that  Avoiild  match  with  the 
queen   in   the   suit  of  hearts   should 
never  win  the  game.'     And  further 
talk  ensued ;  from  which  I  learnt  that 
my  Lord  Arundel  and  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk  mislikc  my  Lord   Leicester, 
and  would  not  he  should  marry  the 
queen ;  and  my  uncle  laughed,    and 
said,  *My  lord,  no  good  Enghshman 
is  there   but  must  be  of  your  lord- 
ship's mind,  though  none  have  so  good 
reason  as  yourself  to  hinder  so  base  a 
contract ;  for  if  my  Lord  of  Leicester 
should  climb  unto  her  majesty's  thront?. 
beshrev,^  me  if  he  v/ill  not  remember 
the  box  on  the  car  your  lordship  min- 
istered to  him  some  time  since;'  at 
v/hich  the  carl  laughed,  too ;  but  my 
Lady  Lumley  cried,  '  I  Avould  to  God 
my  brother  of  Norfolk  were  rid  of  my 
Lord  Leicester's  friendship,  which  has, 
I  much  fear  me,  more  danger  in  it 
than  his  enmity.     God  send  he  does 
not  lead  his  grace  into  troubles  greater 
than  can  well  be  thought  of  I'     Alack, 
Mistress  Constance,  what  uneasy  times 
are  these  v.^hich  we  have  fallen  on !  for 
methinks    'troubles'   is   the  word   in 
every  one's  mouth.     As  I  was  about 
to  step  into  the  chair  at  the  hall-door 
at  Arundel  House,  I  heard  one  of  my 
lord's  guard  say  to  another,  'I  trust 
the  white  horse  will  be  in  quiet,  and  so 
W3  shall  be  out  of  trouble.'     I  have 
asked  Mr.  Martin  what  these  words 
should    mean ;    whereupon    he    told 
mo  the  white  horse,  which  indeed  I 
might  have  known,  was  the  Earl  of 
Arundel's    cognisance;   and   that   th;' 
times  were  very  troublesome,  and  plots 
were  spoken  of  in  the  North  anent 
the  Queen  of  S^ots,  her  majesty  (hj 


Constance  Sheyncood. 


21 


(jUGon's  cousin,  who  is  at  Chates- 
wortli ;  and  when  he  said  that,  all  of  a 
sudden  I  grew  red,  and  my  cheeks 
l)urned  like  two  hot  coals  ;  but  he  took 
no  heed,  and  said,  *A  true  servant 
] night  well  wish  his  master  out  of 
trouble,  when  troubles  were  so  rife/ 
And  now  shame  take  me  for  taking 
up  so  much  of  yo.ur  time,  which  should 
be  spent  in  more  profitable  ways  than 
the  reading  of  my  poor  letters ;  and  I 
must  needs  beg  you  to  write  soon,  and 
hold  me  as  long  as  I  have  held  you, 
and  love  me,  sweet  one,  as  I  love  you. 
My  Lady  Margaret,  who  is  in  a  sense 
twice  my  sister,  says  she  is  jealous  of 
Mistress  Constance  Sherwood,  and 
would  steal  away  my  heart  from  her ; 
but,  though  she  ia  a  winsome  and  cun- 
ning thief  in  such  matters,  I  warrant 
you  she  shall  fail  therein.  And  so, 
commending  myself  to  your  good 
prayers,  I  remain 

"Your  true  friend  and  loving  ser- 
vant, "Ann  Surrey." 


As  I  finished  and  was  folding  up  my 
letter  the  clock  struck  nine.  It  was 
waning  darker  without  by  reason  of  a 
cloud  which  had  obscured  the  moon. 
I  heard  my  father  still  pacing  up  and 
down  the  gravel-walk,  and  ever  and 
anon  staying  his  footsteps  awhile,  as  if 
watching.  After  a  short  space  the 
moon  shone  out  again,  and  I  saw  the 
shadows  of  two  persons  against  the 
wall  of  the  kitchen  garden.  Presently 
the  hall-door  was  fastened  and  bolt- 
ed, as  I  knew  by  the  rattling  of  the 
cliain  which  hung  across  it.  Then 
my  lather  looked  in  at  the  door  and 
said,  "  'Tis  time,  goodwife,  for  young 
folks  to  be  abed."  Upon  which  my 
mother  rose  and  made  as  if  she 
was  about  to  withdraw  to  her  bed- 
chamber. Edmund  followed  us  up 
stairs,  and,  wishing  us  both  good- 
night, went  into  the  closet  where  he 
slept.  Then  my  mother,  taking  me 
by  the  hand,  led  me  into  my  father'* 
gtudy. 


Constance  Sherwood, 


CHAPTER    III. 

As  I  entered  the  library,  which  my 
father  used  for  purposes  of  business 
as  well  as  of  study,  I  saw  a  gentleman 
who  had  often  been  at  our  house  before, 
and  whom  I  knew  to  be  a  priest,  though 
lie  was  dressed  as  a  working-man  of 
the  better  sort  and  had  on  a  riding 
coat  of  coarse  materials.  He  beck- 
oned me  to  him,  and  I,  kneeling,  re- 
ceived his  blessing. 

"  What,  up  yet,  little  one  ?"  he  said  ; 
"  and  yet  thou  must  bestir  thyself  be- 
times to-morrow  for  prayers.  These 
are  not  days  in  which  priests  may 
play  the  sluggard  and  be  found  abed 
when  the  sun  rises." 

"  At  what  hour  must  you  be  on  foot, 
reverend  father?"  my  mother  asked, 
as  sitting  down  at  a  table  by  his  side 
she  filled  his  plate  with  whatever  might 
tempt  him  to  eat,  the  which  he  seemed 
little  inclined  to. 

"  Before  dawn,  good  Mrs.  Sherwood," 
he  answered ;  "  and  across  the  fields 
into  the  forest  before  ever  the  laboring 
men  are  astir;  and  you  know  best  when 
that  is." 

"An  if  it  be  so,  which  I  fear  it 
must,"  my  father  said,  "  we  must  e'en 
have  the  chapel  ready  by  two  o'clock. 
And,  goodwife,  you  should  presently 
get  that  wench  to  bed." 

*-Nay,  good  mother,"  I  cried,  and 
threw  my  arms  round  her  waist, 
"  prithee  let  me  sit  up  to-night ;  I  can  lie 
abed  all  to-morrow."  So  wistfully  and 
urgently  did  I  plead,  that  she,  who  had 
grown  of  late  somewhat  loth  to  deny 
any  request  of  mine,  yielded  to  my  en- 
treaties, and  only  willed  that  I  should 
lie  down  on  a  settle  betwixt  her  chair 
and  the  chimney,  in  which  a  fagot  was 


blazing,  though  it  was  summer-time^ 
but  the  weather  was  chilly.  I  gazed 
by  turns  on  my  mother's  pale  face  and 
my  father's,  which  was  thoughtful,  and 
on  the  good  priest's,  who  was  in  an 
easy-chair,  wherein  they  had  compelled 
him  to  sit,  opposite  to  me  on  the  other 
side  of  the  chimney.  He  looked,  as  I 
remember  him  then,  as  if  in  body  and 
in  mind  he  had  suffered  more  than 
he  could  almost  bear. 

After  some  discourse  had  been  min- 
istered betwixt  him  and  my  father  of 
the  journey  he  had  been  taking,  and 
the  friends  he  had  seen  since  last  he 
had  visited  our  house,  my  mother  said, 
in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  And  now,  good 
Mr.  Mush,  an  if  it  would  not  pain  you 
too  sorely,  tell  us  if  it  be  true  that  your 
dear  daughter  in  Christ,  Mrs.  Clithe- 
row,  has  indeed  won  the  martyr's 
crown,  as  some  letters  from  York  re- 
ported to  us  a  short  time  back  ?" 

Upon  this  Mr.  Mush  raised  his  head, 
which  had  sunk  on  his  breast,  and  said, 
"  She  that  was  my  spiritual  daughter 
in  times  past,  and  now,  as  I  humbly 
hope,  my  glorious  mother  in  heaven, 
the  gracious  martyr  Mrs.  Clitherow, 
has  overcome  all  her  enemies,  and 
passed  from  this  mortal  life  with  rare 
and  marvellous  triumph  mto  the  peace- 
able city  of  God,  there  to  receive  a 
worthy  crown  of  endless  immortality 
and  joy."  His  eye,  that  had  been  bt^ 
fore  heavy  and  dim,  now  shone  with 
sudden  light,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the 
cord  about  his  heart  was  loosed,  and 
his  spirit  found  vent  at  last  i:i  words 
after  a  long  and  painful  silence.  More 
elo(iuent  still  was  his  countenance  than 
his  words  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Torments 
overcame  her  not,  nor  the  sweetness  of 
life,  nor  her  vehement  affection  for  bus- 


Cous'a.icc  ^Acrwood, 


23 


liand  and  cliildrcn,  nor  tlic  flattering 
allurements  and  deceitful  promises  of 
the  persecutors.  Finally,  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil  overcame  her 
not.  She,  a  woman,  with  invincible 
courage  entered  combat  against  them 
all,  to  defend  the  ancient  faith,  wherein 
both  she  and  her  enemies  were  bap- 
tized and  gave  their,  promise  to  God  to 
keep  the  same  until  death.  O  sacred 
martyr !"  and,  with  clasped  hands  and 
streaming  eyes,  the  good  father  went 
on,  "remember  mc,  I  beseech  thee 
humbly,  in  thy  perfect  charity,  whom 
thou  hast  left  miserable  behind  thee, 
in  time  past  thy  unworthy  father  and 
now  most  unworthy  servant,  made  ever 
joyful  by  thy  virtuous  life,  and  now 
lamenting  thy  death  and  thy  absence, 
and  yet  rejoicing  in  thy  glory." 

A  sob  burst  from  my  motiier's  breast, 
and  she  hid  her  face  against  my  father's 
shoulder.  There  was  a  brief  silence, 
during  which  many  quickly  -  rising 
thoughts  passed  through  my  mind.  Of 
Daniel  in  the  lions'  den,  and  the  Mach- 
abees  and  the  early  Christians ;  and  of 
the  great  store  of  blood  which  had  been 
shed  of  late  in  this  our  country,  and  of 
which  amongst  the  slain  were  truly  mar- 
tyrs, and  which  were  not ;  of  the  vision 
in  the  sky  which  had  been  seen  at  Lich- 
field ;  and  chiefly  of  that  blessed  wo- 
man Mrs.  Ciitherow,  whose  virtue  and 
good  works  I  had  often  before  heard  of, 
such  as  serving  the  poor  and  harbor- 
ing priests,  and  loving  God's  Church 
with  a  wonderful  affection  grcator  than 
can  be  thought  of.  Then  I  heard  my 
father  say,  "How  was  it  at  the  last, 
good  Mr.  Mush  r"  I  oped  my  eyes, 
and  hung  on  the  lips  of  the  good  priest 
even  as  if  to  devour  his  words  as  ho 
gave  utterance  to  them. 

"  She  refused  to  be  tried  by  tlio 
country,"  he  answered,  in  a  tremulous 
voice  ;    "  and  go  they  murtlicrcd  her." 

"  How  so  ?"  my  molher  asked,  shad- 
ing her  eyes  with  her  hand,  as  if  to 
exclude  the  mental  sight  of  that  which 
she  yet  sought  to  knovv\ 

"  They  pressed  her  to  death,"  he 
sidfvdy  uttered ;  "  and  the  last  words 
she  was  heard  to  say  were  '  Jesu,  Jcsu, 


Jcsu !  have  mercy  on  me  1'  She  v.as 
in  dying  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  then  her  blessed  spirit  was  iv- 
leased  and  took  its  flight  to  heaven. 
May  v/e  die  the  death  of  the  right- 
eous, and  may  our  last  end  be  Lkt? 
hers !" 

Agam  my  mother  hid  her  face  in  my 
father's  bosom,  and  methought  she  said 
not  "  Amen"  to  that  jjrayer ;  but  turn- 
ing to  Mr.  Mush  with  a  flushed  cheek 
and  troubled  eye,  she  asked,  "And 
why  did  the  blessed  Mrs.  Ciitherow 
refuse  to  be  tried  by  the  country,  rev- 
erend father,  and  thereby  subject  her- 
self to  that  lingering  death  ?" 

"  These  were  her  words  when  ques- 
tioned and  urged  on  that  point,"  he  an- 
swered, "  which  sufficiently  clear  her 
from  all  accusation  of  obstinacy  or 
desperation,  and  combine  the  rare  dis- 
cretion and  charity  which  were  in  her 
at  all  times :  '  Alas  !'  quoth  she,  '  if  I 
should  have  put  myself  on  the  country, 
evidence  must  needs  have  come  against 
me  touching  my  harboring  of  prieslr 
and  the  holy  sacrifice  of  the  mass  in 
my  house,  which  I  know  none  coukl 
give  but  only  my  children  and  ser- 
vants ;  and  it  would  have  been  to  nie 
more  grievous  than  a  thousand  dcathn 
if  I  should  have  seen  any  of  them 
brought  forth  before  me,  to  give  evi-? 
dence  against  me  in  so  good  a  cause 
and  bo  guilty  of  my  blood ;  and,  sec- 
ondly,' quoth  she,  '  I  know  well  the 
country  must  needs  have  found  mc 
guilty  to  please  the  council,  -who  so 
earnestly  seek  my  blood;  and  then  all 
they  had  been  accessory  to  my  death 
and  damnably  offended  God.  I  there- 
fore thmk,  in  the  way  of  charity,  for 
my  part  to  hinder  the  country  from 
ouch  a  sin  ;  and  seeing  it  must  need.^ 
be  done,  to  cause  as  fev/  to  do  it  as 
might  be  ;  and  that  v/as  the  judge  him- 
self.' So  she  thought,  and  thereupon 
oho  acted,  with  that  single  view  to 
God's  glory  and  the  good  of  men'; 
souls  that  was  ever  the  passion  of  h  :• 
fervent  spirit." 

"Her  cliildrcn?"  my  mother  mur- 
mured in  a  faint  voice,  still  hidmg  her 
face  from  him.     "  That  httle  Agnes 


24 


C'jno'ancc  Shcnoood. 


you  used  to  tell  us  of,  that  was  so  dear 
to  her  poor  mother,  how  has  it  fared 
with  her?"' 

Mr  Mush  answered,  "  Her  happy 
mother  sent  her  hose  and  shoes  to  her 
(laugliter  at  the  last,  signifying  tliat 
f.hc  should  serve  God  and  follow  her 
steps  of  virtue.  She  was  committed 
lo  ward  because  she  would  not  betray 
lier  mother,  and  there  whipped  and 
extremely  used  for  that  she  would  not 
go  to  the  church  and  hear  a  sermon. 
AVhen  her  mother  was  murthered,  the 
lieretics  came  to  her  and  said  that  un- 
less she  would  go  lo  the  church,  her 
mother  should  be  put  to  death.  The 
child,  thinking  to  save  the  life  of  her 
who  had  given  her  birth,  went  to  a 
sermon,  and  thus  they  deceived  her." 

"  God  forgive  them !"  my  father 
<*jaculated ;  and  I,  creeping  to  my 
mother's  side,  threw  my  arms  about 
lier  neck,  upon  which  she,  caressing 
me,  said : 

"  Now  thou  wilfc  be  up  to  their  de- 
ceits, Conny,  if  they  should  practice 
the  same  arts  on  thee." 

*'  Mother,"  I  cried,  clinging  to  her, 
'•  I  will  go  with  thee  to  prison  and  to 
death  ;  but  to  their  church  I  will  not 
go  who  love  not  our  Blessed  Lady." 

"So  help  thee  God!"  my  father 
cried,  and  laid  his  hand  on  my  head. 

"Take  heart,  good  Mrs.  Sherwood," 
Mr.  Mush  said  to  my  mother,  who  was 
weeping ;  "  God  may  spare  you  such 
trials  as  those  which  that  sweet  saint 
rejoiced  in,  or  he  can  give  you  a  like 
strength  to  hers.  We  have  need  in 
these  times  to  bear  in  mind  that  com- 
fortable saying  of  holy  writ,  '  As  your 
day  shall  your  strength  be.* " 

"  'Tis  strange,"  my  father  observed, 
*•  how  these  present  troubles  seem  to 
awake  the  readiness,  nay  the  wash,  to 
suffer  for  truth's  sake.  It  is  like  a 
new  sense  in  a  soul  heretofore  but  too 
prone  to  eschew  suffering  of  any  sort : 
'tis  even  as  the  keen  breezes  of  our 
own  Cannock  Chase  stimulate  timeframe 
to  exertions  which  it  would  shrink 
from  in  the  duller  air  of  the  Trent 
Valley." 

•'  Ah  !    and  is  it  even  so  with  you, 


my  friend  ?''  exclaimed  Mr.  Mush. 
"  From  my  heart  I  rojolcc  at  it :  such 
thoughts  are  oftentlniGs  forerunners  of 
God's  call  to  a  soul  marked  out  for 
his  special  service." 

My  mother,  agahist  whom  I  was 
leaning  since  mention  had  been  made 
of  Mrs.  Clitherow's  daughter,  began  to 
tremble  ;  and  rising  said  she  would  go 
to  the  chapel  to  prepare  for  confession. 
Taking  me  by  the  liand,  she  mounted 
the  stairs  to  the  room  which  was  used 
as  such  since  the  ancient  faith  had 
been  proscribed.  One  by  one  that 
night  we  knelt  at  the  feet  of  tlie  good 
shepherd,  who,  like  his  Lord,  waa 
ready  to  lay  down  his  life  for  his  sheep, 
and  were  shriven.  Then,  at  two  of 
the  clock,  mass  was  said,  and  my  pa- 
rents and  most  of  our  scsrvants  re- 
ceived, and  likewise  some  neighbors 
to  whom  notice  had  been  sent  in  se- 
cret of  Mr.  Mush's  coming.  When 
my  mother  returned  from  the  altar  to 
her  seat,  I  marvelled  at  the  change  in 
her  countenance.  She  who  had  been 
GO  troubled  before  the  coming  of  the 
Heavenly  Guest  into  her  breast,  wore 
now  so  serene  and  joyful  an  aspect, 
that  the  looking  upon  her  at  that  time 
wrought  in  me  a  new  and  comfortable 
sense  of  the  greatness  of  that  divine 
sacrament.  I  found  not  the  thought 
of  death  frighten  me  then  ;  for  albeit 
on  that  night  I  for  the  first  time  fully 
arrived  at  the  knowledge  of  the  peril 
and  jeopardy  in  wliich  the  Catholics  of 
this  land  do  live  ;  nevertheless  this 
knowledge  awoke  in  me  more  exulta- 
tion than  fear.  I  had  seen  precautions 
used,  and  reserves  maintained,  of  which 
I  now  perceived  the  cause.  For  some 
time  past  my  parents  had  prepared  the 
way  for  this  no-longer-to-be-deferred 
enlightenment.  The  small  account 
they  had  taught  me  to  make  of  the 
wealth  and  comforts  of  this  perishable 
world,  and  the  histories  they  had  re- 
counted to  me  of  the  sufferings  of 
Christians  in  the  early  times  of  the 
Church,  had  been  directed  unto  this 
end.  They  had,  as  it  were,  laid  the 
wood  on  the  altar  of  my  heart,  which 
they  prayed  might  one  day  burn  into 


Constance  SJierwoodL 


a  flame.  And  now  when,  by  reason 
of  the  discourse  I  had  heard  touching 
Mrs.  CUthe row's  blessed  but  painful 
end  for  harboring  of  priests  in  her 
house,  and  the  presence  of  one  under 
our  roof,  I  took  heed  that  the  danger 
liad  come  nigh  unto  our  own  doors,  my 
lieart  seemed  to  beat  with  a  singular 
joy.  Childhood  sets  no  great  store  on 
life  :  the  passage  from  this  world  to 
the  next  is  not  terrible  to  such  as  have 
Iiad  no  shadows  cast  on  their  paths  by 
their  own  or  others'  sins.  Heaven  is 
not  a  far-off  region  to  the  pure  in 
heart ;  but  rather  a  home,  where  God, 
;i.s  St.  Thomas  sings, 

"Vitam  sine  termino 
Nobis  donet  in  patria." 

But,  ah  me!  how  transient  are 
the  lights  and  shades  which  flit  across 
Ihe  childish  mind !  and  how  mutable 
the  temper  of  youth,  never  long  im- 
])resscd  by  any  event,  however  grave ! 
Not  many  days  after  Mr.  Mush's  visit 
to  our  house,  another  letter  from  the 
Countess  of  Surrey  came  into  my 
hand,  and  drove  from  my  thoughts  for 
t!ie  time  all  but  the  matters  therein 
disclosed. 

'•  Sweet  Mistress  Constance'* 
(my  lady  wrote), — "In  my  last  letter 
I  made  mention,  in  an  obscure  fashion, 
of  a  secret  which  my  lord  had  told 
me  touching  a  matter  of  great  weight 
which  Higford,  his  grace's  steward, 
had  let  out  to  him ;  and  now  that  the 
whole  world  is  speaking  of  what  was 
tlien  in  hand,  and  that  troubles  have 
came  of  it,  I  must  needs  relieve  my 
mind  by  writing  thereof  to  her  who  is 
the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  if 
I  may  judge  by  the  virtuous  counsel 
and  loving  words  her  letters  do  con- 
tain. 'Tis  lilie  you  have  heard  some- 
what of  that  same  matter,  Mistress 
Constance;  for  much  talk  has  been 
ministered  anent  it  since  I  wrote, 
amongst  people  of  all  sorts,  and  with 
various  intents  to  the  hindering  or  the 
I)ronj^ting  thereof.  I  mean  touching 
the  marriage  of  his  grace  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk  with   the   Queen   of    Scots, 


which  is  much  desired  by  some,  and 
very  little  wished  for  by  others.  My 
lord,  as  is  reasonable  in  one  of  his 
years  and  of  so  noble  a  spirit,  and  his 
sister,  who  is  in  all  things  the  counter- 
part of  her  brother,  have  set  their 
hearts  thereon  since  the  first  inkling 
they  had  of  it ;  for  this  queen  had  so 
noted  a  fame  for  her  excellent  beauty 
and  sweet  disposition  that  it  has 
wrought  in  them  an  extraordinary 
passionate  desire  to  title  her  mother, 
and  to  see  their  father  so  nobly  mated, 
though  not  more  than  he  deserves ; 
for,  as  my  lord  says,  his  grace's  estate 
in  England  is  worth  little  less  than  the 
whole  realm  of  Scotland,  in  the  ill 
state  to  which  the  wars  have  reduced 
it ;  and  when  he  is  in  his  own  tennis-' 
court  at  Norwich,  he  thinks  himself  as 
great  as  a  king. 

"As  a  good  wife,  I  should  wish 
as  my  lord  does;  and  indeed  this 
marriage.  Mistress  Constance,  would 
please  me  well;  for  the  Queen  of 
Scots  is  Catholic,  and  methinks  if  his 
grace  were  to  wed  her,  there  might 
arise  some  good  out  of  it  to  such  as 
are  dependent  on  his  grace  touching 
matters  of  religion;  and  since  Mr. 
Martin  has  gone  beyond  seas,  'tis  very 
little  I  hear  in  this  house  but  what  is 
contrary  to  the  teaching  I  had  at  my 
grandmother's.  My  lord  saith  this 
queen's  troubles  will  be  ended  if  she 
doth  marry  his  grace,  for  so  Higford 
has  told  him ;  but  when  I  spoke  there- 
of to  my  Lady  Lumley,  she  prayed 
God  his  grace's  might  not  then  begin, 
but  charged  me  to  be  silent  thereon 
before  my  Lord  Arundel,  who  has 
greatly  set  his  heart  on  this  match. 
She  said  words  were  in  every  one's 
mouth  concerning  this  marriage  which 
should  never  have  been  spoken  of  but 
amongst  a  few.  '  Nan,'  quoth  she,  *  if 
Phil  and  thou  do  let  your  children's 
tongues  wag  anent  a  matter  which 
may  well  be  one  of  life  and  death, 
more  harm  may  come  of  it  than  can 
well  be  thought  of.'  So  prithee,  Mis-  • 
tress  Constance,  do  you  be  silent  as 
the  grave  on  what  I  have  herein 
written,  if  so  be  you  have  not  heard 


26 


Constance  Sherwood, 


of  it  but  from  mc.  My  lord  had  a 
quarrel  with  my  Lord  Essex,  who  is 
about  his  own  age,  an  cut  the  Queen 
of  Scots,  a  few  days  since,  when  he 
came  to  spend  his  birthday  with  him  ; 
for  my  lord  was  twelve  years  old  last 
week,  and  I  gave  him  a  fair  jewel  to 
set  in  his  cap,  for  a  love-token  and  for 
remembrance.  My  lord  said  that  the 
Queen  of  Scots  was  a  lady  of  so  great 
virtue  and  beauty  that  none  else  could 
be  compared  with  her;  upon  which 
my  lord  of  Essex  cried  it  was  high, 
treason  to  the  queen's  majesty  to 
say  so,  and  that  if  her  grace  held  so 
long  a  time  in  pnson  one  who  was  her 
near  kinswoman,  it  v/as  by  reason  of 
her  having  murthered  her  husband 
and  fomented  rebellion  in  tliis  king- 
dom of  England,  for  the  which  she 
did  deserve  to  be  extremely  used. 
My  lord  was  very  wroth  at  this,  and 
swore  he  was  no  traitor,  and  that  the 
Queen  of  Scots  was  no  murtheress, 
and  he  would  lay  down  his  head  on 
the  block  rather  than  suffer  any  should 
style  her  such  ;  upon  which  my  lord 
of  Essex  asked,  '  Prithee,  my  Lord 
Surrey,  were  you  at  Thomham  last 
week  when  the  queen's  majesty  was 
on  a  visit  to  your  grandfather,  my 
Lord  Arundel  ?'  *  No,'  cried  my  lord, 
*  your  lordship  being  there  yourself  in 
my  Lord  Leicester's  suite,  must  needs 
have  noticed  I  was  absent;  for  if  I 
had  been  present,  methinks  'tis  I  and 
not  your  lordship  would  have  waited 
behind  her  majesty's  chair  at  table 
and  held  a  napkin  to  her.'  '  And  if 
you  had,  my  lord,'  quoth  my  Lord 
Essex,  waxing  hot  in  his  speech,  *  you 
would  have  noticed  how  her  grace's 
majesty  gave  a  nip  to  his  grace  your 
father,  who  was  sitting  by  her  side, 
and  &aid  she  would  have  him  take 
heed  on  what  pillow  he  rested  his 
head.'  '  And  I  would  have  you  take 
heed,'  cries  my  lord,  *  how  you  suffer 
j^our  tongue  to  wag  in  an  unseemly 
manner  anent  her  grace's  majesty  and 
liis  grace  my  father  and  the  Queen  of 
Scots,  who  is  kinswoman  to  both,  and 
even  now  a  prisoner,  which  should 
make  men  careful  how  they  speak  of 


her  who  cannot  speak  in  her  own 
cause ;  for  it  is  a  very  inhuman  part, 
my  lord,  to  tread  on  such  as  misfor- 
tune has  cast  down.'  There  .  was  a 
nobleness  in  these  words  such  as  I  have 
often  taken  note  of  in  my  lord,  thougli 
so  young,  and  which  his  playmat<' 
yielded  to ;  so  that  nothing  more  was 
said  at  that  time  anent  those  ma- 
ters, which  indeed  do  seem  too  weighly 
to  be  discoursed  upon  by  young  foik-^. 
But  I  have  thought  since  on  the  linens 
which  'tis  said  -lie  queen's  majesty 
v/rote  when  she  v/as  herself  a  prisoner, 
which  begin, 


O  Fortune!  liov/  thy  r33ilG33,  wavering  stat  j 
Uitli  Iraugiit  with  cires  my  troubled  wit  ; 
Witness  this  present  prison,  wliitlier  fate 
Coald  boar  nic,  and  tho  joys  I  quit  '— 


and  wondered  she  should  have  no 
greater  pity  on  those  in  the  same 
plight,  as  so  many  be  at  this  time.  Ah 
me !  I  would  not  keep  a  bird  in  a  cage 
an  I  could  help  it,  and  'tis  sad  men 
are  not  more  tender  of  such  as  are  of 
a  like  nature  with  themselves  ! 

"  My  lord  was  away  some  days  af- 
ter this  at  Oxford,  whither  he  had 
been  carried  to  be  present  at  the 
queen's  visit,  and  at  the  play  of  Pa- 
lamon  and  Arcite,  which  her  majesty 
heard  in  the  common  hall  of  Christ's 
Church.  One  evening,  as  my  lady 
Margaret  and  I  (like  two  twin  cher- 
ries on  one  stalk,  my  lord  would  say, 
for  he  is  mightily  taken  with  tli' 
stage-plays  he  doth  hear,  and  hath  a 
trick  of  framing  his  speech  from  them) 
were  sitting  at  the  window  near  unto 
the  garden  practising  our  lutes  and 
singing  madrigals,  he  surprised  us 
with  his  sweet  company,  in  which  ] 
find  an  ever  increasing  content,  and 
cried  out  as  he  approached,  'Ladies, 
I  hold  this  sentence  of  the  poet  as 
a  canon  of  my  creed,  that  whom 
God  loveth  not,  they  love  not  music' 
And  then  he  said  that  albeit  Italian 
was  a  very  harmonious  and  sweet  lan- 
guage which  pleasantly  tickle th  the 
ear,  he  for  his  part  loved  English 
best,  even  in  singing.  Upon  which, 
finding  him  in  the  humor  for  discreet 


Constance  Sherwood, 


27 


and  sensible  conversation,  which,  al- 
beit he  hath  good  parts  and  a  ready 
wit,  is  not  always  the  case,  by  reason 
of  his  being,  as  boys  mostly  are,  prone 
to  wagging,  I  took  occasion  to  relate 
what  I  had  heard  my  Lord  of  Arun- 
del say  touching  his  visit  to  the  court 
of  Brussels,  when  the  Duchess  of 
Parma  invited  hmi  to  a  banquet  to 
meet  the  Prince  of  Orange  and  most 
of  the  chief  courtiers.  The  discourse 
was  carried  on  in  French;  but  my 
lord,  albeit  he  could  speak  well  in  that 
language,  nevertheless  made  use  of  an 
interpreter.  At  the  which  the  Prince 
of  Orange  expressed  his  surprise  to 
Sir  John  "Wilson,  who  was  present, 
that  an  English  nobleman  of  so  great 
birth  and  breeding  should  be  ignorant 
of  the  French  tongue,  which  the  earl 
presently  liearing,  said, '  Tell  the  prince 
that  I  like  to  speak  in  that  language 
in  wliich  I  can  best  utter  my  mind 
and  not  mistake.'  *  And  I  perceive, 
my  lord,'  I  said,  ^  that  you  are  of  a 
like  mind  with  his  lordship,  and  no 
lover  of  new-fangled  and  curious 
terms.' 

"  Upon  which  my  dear  earl  laughed, 
and  related  unto  us  how  the  queen 
had  been  pleased  to  take  notice  of 
him  at  Oxford,  and  spoke  merrily  to 
him  of  his  marriage.  *And  prithee, 
Phil,  what  were  her  highness's  words?' 
quoth  his  prying  sister,  like  a  true 
daughter  of  Eve.  At  which  my  lord 
stroked  his  chin,  as  if  to  smooth  his 
beard  which  is  still  to  come,  and  said 
her  majesty  had  cried,  '  God's  pity, 
child,  thou  wilt  tiro  of  thy  wife  afore 
you  have  both  left  the  nursery.' 
*  Alack,'  cried  Meg,  '  if  any  but  her 
highness  had  said  it,  thy  hand  would 
have  been  on  thy  sword,  brother,  and 
I'll  warrant  thou  didst  turn  as  red  as 
a  turkey-cock,  when  her  majesty  thus 
titled  thee  a  baby.  Nay,  do  not  frown, 
but  be  a  good  lord  to  us,  and  tell  Nan 
and  me  if  the  queen  said  aught  else.' 
Then  my  lord  cleared  his  brow,  and 
related  how  in  the  hunting  scene  in 
tlie  plijy,  when  the  cry  of  the  hounds 
was  heard  outside  the  stage,  which 
was   excellently  vrell   imitated,  some 


scholars  who  were  seated  near  him, 
and  he  must  confess  liimself  also,  did 
shout,  '  There,  there — he's  caught, 
he's  caught !'  upon  which  her  grace's 
majesty  laughed,  and  merrily  cried  out 
from  her  box,  '  Those  boys  in  very  troth 
are  ready  to  leap  out  of  the  windows ! ' 
'And  had  you  such  pleasant  sport-' 
each  day,  brother  ?'  quoth  our  Meg. 
'  No,  by  my  troth,'  my  lord  answered ; 
*  the  more's  the  pity  ;  for  the  next  day 
there  was  a  disputation  held  in  physic 
and  divinity  from  two  to  seven ;  and  Dr. 
Westphaling  held  forth  at  so  great 
length  that  her  majesty  sent  word  to  him 
to  end  his  discourse  without  delay,  to 
the  great  relief  and  comfort  of  all  pres- 
ent. But  he  would  not  give  over,  lest, 
having  committed  all  to  memory,  he 
should  forget  the  rest  if  he  omitted 
any  part  of  it,  and  bo  brought  to 
shame  before  the  university  and  the 
court.'  '  What  said  her  highness  when 
she  saw  he  heeded  not  her  com- 
mands ?'  Meg  asked.  '  She  was  an- 
gered at  first,'  quoth  my  lord,  '  that  he 
durst  go  on  with  his  discourse  when 
she  had  sent  him  word  presently  to 
stop,  whereby  she  had  herself  been 
prevented  from  speaking,  which  the 
Spanish  Ambassador  had  asked  her 
to  do;  but  when  she  heard  the  reason 
it  moved  her  to  laughter,  and  she  titled 
him  a  parrot.' 

'• '  And  spoke  not  her  majesty  at  all  r' 
I  asked ;  and  my  lord  said,  '  She 
would  not  have  been  a  woman.  Nan, 
an  she  had  licld  her  tongue  after  being 
once  resolved  to  use  it.  She  made 
the  next  day  an  oration  in  Latin,  and 
stopped  in  the  midst  to  bid  my  Lord 
Burleigh  be  seated,  and  not  to  stand 
painfully  on  his  gouty  feet.  Beshrew 
me,  but  I  think  she  did  it  to  show  the 
poor  dean  how  much  better  her  mem- 
ory served  her  than  his  had  done,  for 
she  looked  round  to  where  he  was 
standing  cro  she  resumed  her  dis- 
course. And  now,  Meg,  clear  thy 
throat  and  tunc  Ihy  pipe,  for  not  an- 
other word  vrill  I  speak  till  thou  hast 
sung  that  ditty  good  Mr.  Martin  set  to 
music  for  thee.'  I  have  set  it  down  here, 
Mistress  Constance,  with  the  notes  as 


2S 


Constance  Sherwood, 


she  sung  it,  that  you  may  sing  it  also ; 
and  not  like  it  the  less  that  my  quaint 
fancy  pictures  the  maiden  the  poet  sings 
of,  in  her  *  frock  of  frolic  green,'  hke 
unto  my  sweet  friend  who  dwells  not 
far  from  one  of  the  fair  rivers  therein 
named. 


A  knight,  as  antique  stories  tell, 
A  daughter  had  named  Dawsabel, 

A  maiden  fair  and  free  ; 
She  wore  a  frock  of  frolic  green, 
Might  well  become  a  maiden  queen, 

Which  seemly  was  to  see. 

The  silk  well  could  she  twist  and  twine. 

And  make  the  fine  March  pine, 

And  with  the  needle  work  ; 

And  she  could  help  the  priest  to  say 

His  matins  on  a  holy  day. 

And  sing  a  psalm  in  kirk. 

Her  features  all  as  fresh  above 
As  is  the  grass  that  grows  by  Dove, 
And  lythe  as  lass  of  Kent ; 
Her  skin  as  soft  as  Leinster  wool. 
And  white  as  snow  on  Penhisk  Hull, 
Or  swan  that  swims  on  Trent. 

This  maiden  on  a  mom  betime 

Goes  forth  when  May  is  in  its  prime. 

To  get  sweet  setywall. 

The  honeysuckle,  the  hurlock. 

The  lily  and  the  lady-smock, 

To  deck  her  father's  hall. 


"  '  Ah,'  cried  my  lord,  when  Meg  had 
ended  her  song,  *  beshrew  me,  if  Mon- 
8ieur  Sebastian's  madrigals  are  one- 
half  so  dainty  as  this  English  piece  of 
liarmony.'  And  then, — -for  his  lord- 
ship's head  is  at  present  running  on 
pageants  such  as  he  witnessed  at 
Nonsuch  and  at  Oxford, — ^he  would 
have  me  call  into  the  garden  Madge 
and  Bess,  whilst  he  fetched  his  brothers 
to  take  part  in  a  May  game,  not  in- 
deed in  season  now,  but  which,  he 
says,  is  too  good  sport  not  to  be  fol- 
lowed all  the  year  round.  So  he  must 
needs  dress  himself  as  Robin  Hood, 
with  a  wreath  on  his  head  and  a  sheaf 
of  arrows  in  his  girdle,  and  me  as  Maid 
Marian ;  and  Meg,  for  that  she  is  taller 
by  an  inch  than  any  of  us,  though 
younger  than  him  and  me,  he  said 
should  play  Little  John,  and  Bess 
Friar  Tuck,  for  that  she  looks  so  glee- 
some  and  has  a  face  so  red  and  round. 
'  And  Tom,'  he  cried,  '  thou  needst  not 
be  at  pains  to  change  thy  name,  for  we 
will  dub  thee  Tom  the  piper.'  *  And 
what  is  Will  to  be  ?'  asked  my  Lady 
Bess,  who,  smce  I  be  titled  Countess 


of  Surrey,  must  needs  be  styled  My 
Lady  William  Howard.'  'Why, 
there's  only  the  fool  left,'  quoth  my 
lord, '  for  thy  sweetheart  to  play,  Bess.' 
At  the  which  her  ladyship  and  his 
lordsliip  too  began  to  stamp  and  cry, 
and  would  have  sobbed  outright,  but 
sweet  Madge,  whose  face  waxes  so 
white  and  her  eyes  so  large  and  blue 
that  methinks  she  is  more  like  to  an 
angel  than  a  child,  put  out  her  little 
thin  hands  with  a,  pretty  gesture,  and 
said,  '  I'll  be  the  fool,  brother  Surrey, 
and  Will  shall  be  the  dragon,  and  Bess 
ride  the  hobby-horse,  an  it  will  please 
her.'  <  Nay,  but  she  is  Friar  Tuck,' 
quoth  my  lord,  '  and  should  not  ride.' 
'  And  prithee  wherefore  no  ?'  cried  the 
forward  imp,  who,  now  she  no  more 
fears  her  grandam's  rod,  has  grown 
very  saucy  and  bold;  'why  should 
not  the  good  friar  ride,  an  it  doth 
pleasure  him  ?' 

"  At  the  which  we  laughed  and  fell 
to  acting  our  parts  with  no  little  mer- 
riment and  noise,  and  sundry  repre- 
hensions from  my  lord  when  we  mis- 
took our  postures  or  the  lines  he 
would  have  us  to  recite.  And  at  the 
end  he  set  up  a  pole  on  the  grass-plat 
for  the  Maying,  and  we  danced  and 
sung  around  it  to  a  merry  tune,  which 
set  our  feet  flying  in  time  with  the 
music : 

Now  in  the  month  of  maying, 
When  the  merry  lads  ^re  i)laying. 

Fa,  la,  la. 


Each  with  his  bonny  lassc, 
Upon  the  greeny  grasse. 


Fa.  la,  la. 


Madge  was  not  strong  enough  to  dance, 
but  she  stole  away  to  gather  white  and 
blue  violets,  and  made  a  fair  garland 
to  set  on  my  head,  to  my  lord's  great 
content,  and  would  have  me  unloose 
my  hair  on  my  shoulders,  whicli  fell 
nearly  to  my  feet,  and  waved  in  the 
wind  in  a  wild  fashion  ;  which  he  said 
was  beseeming  for  a  bold  outlaw's  bride, 
and  what  he  had  seen  in  the  Maid  Ma- 
rian, who  had  played  in  the  pageant 
at  Nonsuch.  Mrs.  Fawcett  misdoubt- 
ed that  this  sport  of  ours  shoiihl  be 
approved  by  Mr.  Charkc,  who  cuUs  all 


Constance  Sherwood, 


29 


stage-playing  Satan's  recreations,  and 
a  sure  road  unto  hell ;  and  that  we 
shall  hear  on  it  in  his  next  preach- 
ment ;  for  he  has  held  forth  to  her  at 
length  on  that  same  point,  and  up- 
braided her  for  that  she  .did  suffer 
such  foohsh  and  profane  pastimes  to 
be  carried  on  in  his  grace's  house.  Ah 
me !  I  see  no  harm  in  it ;  and  if,  when 
my  lord  visits  me,  I  play  not  with  him 
as  he  chooses,  'tis  not  a  thing  to  be  ex- 
pected that  he  will  come  only  to  sing 
psalms  or  play  chess,  which  Mr.  Charke 
holds  to  be  the  only  game  it  befits 
Christians  to  entertain  themselves  with. 
'Tis  hard  to  know  what  is  right  and 
wrong  when  persons  be  of  such  differ- 
ent minds,  and  no  ghostly  adviser  to  be 
liad,  such  as  I  was  used  to  at  my 
grandmother's  house. 

"  All,  Mistress  Constance !  when  I 
last  wrote  unto  you  I  said  troubles 
vv^as  the  word  in  every  one's  mouth, 
and  crc  I  had  finished  this  letter — 
v/hich  I  was  then  writing,  and  have 
kept  by  me  ever  since — what,  think 
you,  has  befallen  us  ?  'Tis  anent  the 
marriage  of  his  grace  with  the  Queen 
of  Scots  ;  which  I  now  do  wish  it  had 
pleased  God  none  had  ever  thought 
of.  Some  weeks  since  my  lord  had 
told  me,  with  great  glee,  that,  the 
Spanish  ambassador  was  about  to  pe- 
tition her  majesty  the  queen  for  the 
release  of  her  highness's  cousin ;  and 
Higford  and  Bannister,  and  the  rest 
of  liis  grace's  household — whom,  since 
Mr.  Martin  went  beyond  seas,  my 
lord  spends  much  of  his  time  with,  and 
more  of  it  methinks  than  is  beseeming 
or  to  the  profit  of  liis  manners  and  ad- 
vancement of  his  behavior — have  told 
him  that  this  would  prepare  the  way 
for  the  greatly-to-be-desired  end  of 
his  grace's  marriage  with  that  queen ; 
and  my  lord  was  reckoning  up  all  the 
fine  sports  and  pageants  and  noble  en- 
tertainments would  be  enacted  at  Ken- 
ninghall  and  Thetford  when  that  right 
princely  wedding  should  take  place ; 
and  hoAV  he  should  himself  carry  the 
train  ^  the  queen-duchess  when  she 
went  into  church ;  v/ho  was  the  fair- 
est woman,   he    said,  in   the  whole 


world,  and  none  ever  seen  to  be  com-' 
pared  with  her  since  the  days  of  Gre- 
cian Helen.  But  when,  some  dayd 
ago,  I  questioned  my  lord  touching  tli;* 
success  of  the  ambassador's  suits,  and 
the  queen's  answer  thereto,  he  sa'd : 
^  By  my  troth.  Nan,  I  understand  thai 
her  highness  sent  away  the  gooseman . 
for  so  she  entitled  Senor  Guzman, 
with  a  flea  in  his  ear ;  for  she  said 
he  had  come  on  a  fool's  errand,  and 
gave  him  for  her  answer  that  she 
would  advise  the  Queen  of  Scots  to 
bear  her  condition  with  less  impa- 
tience, or  she  might  chance  to  find 
some  of  those  on  whom  she  relied 
shorter  by  a  head.'  *  Oh,  my  lord,'  I 
cried  ;  *  my  dear  Phil !  God  send  she 
was  not  speaking  of  his  grace  your 
father !'  '  Nan,'  quoth  he,  *  she  looked 
at  his  grace  the  next  day  with  looks 
of  so  great  anger  and  disdain,  that 
my  lord  of  Leicester — that  false  and 
villainous  knave — gave  signs  of  so 
great  triumph  as  if  his  grace  was 
even  on  his  way  to  the  Tower.  Be- 
shrew  me,  if  I  would  not  run  my  ra- 
pier through  his  body  if  I  could !' 
'  And  where  is  his  grace  at  present  ?' 
I  asked.  *  He  came  to  to^vn  last 
night,'  quoth  my  lord,  '  with  my  Lord 
Arundel,  and  this  morning  went  to 
Kenninghall.'  After  this  for  some 
days  I  heard  no  more,  for  a  new  tutor 
came  to  my  lord,  who  suffers  him  not 
to  stay  in  the  waiting-room  with  his 
grace's  gentlemen,  and  keeps  so  strict 
a  hand  over  him  touching  his  studies, 
that  in  his  brief  hours  of  recreation  he 
would  rather  play  at  quoits,  and  other 
active  pastimes,  than  converse  with  his 
lady.  Alack !  I  wish  he  were  a  few 
years  older,  and  I  should  have  more 
comfort  of  him  than  now,  when  I  must 
needs  put  up  vAih  his  humors,  which 
be  as  changeful,  by  reason  of  his  great 
youth,  as  the  lights  and  shades  on  the 
grass  'neath  an  aspen-tree.  I  must  be 
throwing  a  ball  for  hours,  or  learning 
a  stage-part,  when  I  would  fain  speak 
of  the  weighty  matters  which  be  on 
hand,  such  as  I  have  told  you  of. 
Howsoever,  as  good  luck  would  have  it, 
my  Lady  Lmnley  sent  for  me  to  spend 


30 


Constance  Sherwood. 


the  day  with  her ;  and  from  her  lady- 
ship I  learnt  that  his  grace  had  written 
to  the  queen  that  he  had  withdrawn 
from  the  court  because  of  the  pain  he 
felt  at  her  displeasure,  and  his  mortifi- 
cation at  the  treatment  he  had  been  sub- 
jected to  by  the  insolence  of  his  foes,  by 
whom  he  has  been  made  a  common  ta- 
ble talk ;  and  that  her  majesty  had  laid 
upon  him  her  commands  straightway 
to  return  to  court.  That  was  all  was 
known  that  day ;  but  at  the  very  time 
that  I  was  writing  the  first  of  these  wo- 
ful  tidings  to  you,  Mistress  Constance, 
his  grace — whom  I  now  know  that  I 
do  love  dearly,  and  with  a  true  daugh- 
ter's heart,  by  the  dreadful  fear  and 
pain  I  am  in — was  arrested  at  Burn- 
ham,  where  he  had  stopped  on  his  road 
to  Windsor,  and  committed  to  the  Tow- 
er. Alack  !  alack  !  what  will  follow  ? 
I  will  leave  this  my  letter  open  until  I 
have  further  news  to  send. 

"  His  grace  was  examined  this  day 
before  my  Lord-keeper  Bacon,  and  my 
Lords  Northampton,  Sadler,  Bedford, 
and  Cecil ;  and  they  have  reported  to 
her  majesty  that  the  duke  had  not  put 
himself  under  penalty  of  the  law  by 
any  overt  act  of  treason,  and  that  it 
would  be  difficult  to  convict  him  with- 
out this.  My  Lord  of  Arundel,  at 
whose  house  I  was  when  these  tidings 
came,  said  her  majesty  was  so  angered 
at  this  judgment,  that  she  cried  out  in 
a  passion,  '  Away !  what  the  law  fails 
to  do  my  authority  shall  effect ;'  and 
straightway  fell  into  a  fit,  her  passion 
was  so  great ;  and  they  were  forced  to 
apply  vinegar  to  restore  her.  I  had  a 
wicked  thought  come  into  my  mind. 
Mistress  Constance,  that  I  should  not 
have  been  concerned  if  the  queen's 
majesty  had  died  in  that  fit,  which  I 
befear  me  was  high  treason,  and  a 
mortal  sin,  to  wish  for  one  to  die  in  a 
state  of  sin.  But,  alack !  since  I  have 
left  going  to  shrift  I  find  it  hard  to 
fight  against  bad  thoughts  and  naughty 
tempers ;  and  when  I  say  my  prayers, 
and  the  old  words  come  to  my  lips, 
which  the  preachments  I  hear  do  con- 
tradict, I  am  sometimes  well-nigh 
tempted  to  give  over  praying  at  all.. 


But  I  pray  to  God  I  may  never  be  so 
wicked ;  and  though  I  may  not  have 
my  beads  (which  were  taken  from 
me),  that  the  good  Bishop  of  Durham 
gave  me  when  I  was  confirmed,  I  use 
my  fingers  in  their  stead ;  and  whilst 
his  grace  was  at  the  Tower  I  did  say 
as  many  ^  Hail  Maries'  in  one  day 
as  I  ever  did  in  my  life  before  ;  and 
promised  him,  who  is  God's  own  dear 
Son  and  hers,  if  his  grace  came  out 
of  prison,  never  to  be  a  day  of  my 
life  without  saying  a  prayer,  or  giving 
an  alms,  or  doing  a  good  turn  to  those 
which  be  in  the  same  case,  near  at  hand 
or  throughout  the  world ;  and  I  ween 
there  are  many  such  of  all  sorts  at  this 
time. 

"  Your  loving  servant  to  command, 
whose  heart  is  at  present  heavier  than 
her  pen, 

"  Ann   Sukkey.'*' 

"  P.  S.  My  Lord  of  Westmoreland 
has  left  London,  and  his  lady  is  in  a 
sad  plight.  I  hear  such  things  said  on 
all  sides  touching  Papists  as  I  can 
scarce  credit,  and  I  pray  to  God  they 
be  not  true.  But  an  if  they  be  so  bad 
as  some  do  say,  why  does  his  grace 
run  his  head  into  danger  for  the  sake 
of  the  Popish  queen,  as  men  do  style 
her?  They  have  arrested  Higford 
and  Bannister  last  night,  and  they  are 
to  taste  of  the  rack  to-day,  to  satisfy 
the  queen,  who  is  so  urgent  on  it.  My 
lord  is  greatly  concerned  thereat,  and 
cried  when  he  spoke  of  it,  albeit  he 
tried  to  hide  his  tears.  I  asked  him 
to  show  me  what  sort  of  pain  it  was  ; 
whereupon  he  twisted  my  arm  till  I 
cried  out  and  bade  him  desist.  God 
help  me  !  I  could  not  have  endured 
the  pain  an  instant  longer ;  and  if  they 
have  naught  to  tell  anent  these  plots 
and  against  his  grace,  they  needs  must 
speak  Avhat  is  fake  when  under  the 
rack.  Oh,  'tis  terrible  to  think  what 
men  do  suffer  and  cause  others  to 
suffer !" 

This  letter  came  into  my  hand  on  a 
day  when  my  father  had  gone  into 
Lichfield  touching  some  business ;  and 


Constance  S'lcr 


31 


lie  brought  with  it  the  news  of  a  rising 
in  the  north,  and  that  his  Grace  of 
Northumberland  and  my  Lord  of  West- 
moreland had  taken  arms  on  hearing 
of  the  Dnke  of  Norfolk's  arrest ;  and 
tlie  Catholics,  under  Mr.  Ricliard  Nor- 
ton and  Lord  Latimer,  had  joined  their 
standard,  and  were  bearing  the  cross 
before  the  insurgents.  My  father  was 
t;ore  cast  down  at  these  tidings  ;  for 
lie  looked  for  no  good  from  what  was 
rcbelHon  against  a  lawful  sovereign, 
and  a  consorting  with  troublesome 
spirits,  swayed  by  no  love  of  our  holy 
rehgion  but  rather  contrary  to  it,  as 
ray  Lord  of  Westmoreland  and  some 
others  of  those  leading  lords.  And  he 
hence  foreboded  fresh  trials  to  all  such 
jis  were  of  the  ancient  faith  all  over 
England ;  which  was  not  long  in  ac- 
tTuing  even  in  our  own  case ;  for  a 
short  time  after,  vv^e  were  for  the  first 
time  visited  by  pursuivants,  on  a  day 
and  in  such  a  manner  as  I  will  now 
briefly  relate. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

On  the  Sunday  morning  which  fol- 
lowed the  day  on  which  the  news  had 
reached  us  of  the  rising  in  Northum- 
berland, I  went,  as  was  my  wont,  into 
my  mother's  dressing-room,  to  crave 
her  blessing,  and  I  asked  of  her  if  the 
priest  who  came  to  say  mass  for  us 
most  Sundays  had  arrived.  She  said 
he  had  been,  and  had  gone  away  again, 
and  that  she  greatly  feared  we  should 
have  no  prayers  that  day,  saving  such 
as  we  might  offer  up  for  ourselves ;  "  to- 
gether," she  added  after  a  pause,  "  with 
a  bitter  sacrifice  of  tears  and  of  such 
sufferings  as  we  have  heard  of,  but 
as  yet  not  known  the  taste  of  our- 
selves." 

Again  I  felt  in  my  heart  a  throbbing 
feeling,  which  had  in  it  an  admixture 
of  pain  and  joy — ^made  up,  I  ween,  of 
eonfiicting  passions — such  as  curiosity 
i Seeding  on  the  presentment  of  an  ap- 
j)roaching  change  ;  of  the  motions  of 
grace  in  a  soul  which  faintly  discerns 


the  happiness  of  suffering  for  con- 
science sake ;  and  the  fear  of  suffer- 
ing natural  to  the  human  heart. 

"Why  are  we  to  have  no  mass, 
sweet  mother  T'  I  asked,  encircHng  her 
v/aist  in  my  arms ;  "  and  wherefore 
has  good  Mr.  Bryan  gone  away  ?" 

"  We  received  advice  late  last  even- 
ing," she  answered,  "  that  the  queen's 
pursuivants  have  orders  to  search  this 
day  the  houses  of  the  most  noted  le- 
cusants  in  this  neighborhood  ;  and  'tis 
likely  •  they  may  begin  with  us,  who 
have  never  made  a  secret  of  our  faith, 
and  never  will." 

"And  will  they  kill  us  if  they 
come  ?"  I  asked,  with  that  same  trem- 
bling eagerness  I  have  so  often  known 
since  when  danger  was  at  hand. 

"  Not  now,  not  to-day,  Conny,"  she 
answered ;  "  but  I  pray  to  God  they 
do  not  carry  us  away  to  prison ;  for 
since  this  rising  in  the  north,  to  be  a 
Catholic  and  a  traitor  is  one  and  the 
same  in  their  eyes  who  have  to  judge 
us.  We  must  needs  hide  our  books 
and  church  furniture  ;  so  give  me  thy 
beads,  sweet  one,  and  the  cross  from 
thy  neck." 

I  waxed  red  when  my  mother  bade 
me  unloose  the  string,  and  tightly 
clasped  the  cross  in  both  my  hands. 
"  Let  them  kill  me,  mother,"  I  cried ; 
"  but  take  not  off"  my  cross." 

"Maybe,"  she  said,  "the  queen's 
officers  would  trample  on  it,  and  so 
injure  their  own  souls  in  dishonoring 
a  holy  symbol."  And  as  she  spoke 
she  took  it  from  me,  and  hid  it  in  a 
recess  behind  the  chimney  ;  which  no 
sooner  was  done,  than  we  heard  a 
sound  of  horses'  feet  in  the  approach ; 
and  going  to  the  window,  I  cried  out, 
"  Here  is  a  store  of  armed  men  on 
horseback !"  Ere  I  had  uttered  the 
words,  one  of  them  had  dismounted 
and  loudly  knocked  at  the  door  with 
his  truncheon  ;  upon  which  my  mother, 
taking  me  by  the  hand,  went  down 
stairs  into  the  parlor  v/here  my 
father  was.  It  seemed  as  if  those 
knocks  had  struck  on  her  heart,  so 
great  a  trembling  came  over  her. 
My    father  bade  the  servants  throw 


^2 


Gons'amc  Sliervjood. 


open  the  door;  and  the  sheriff  came 
in,  with  two  pursuivants  and  some 
more  men  with  him,  and  produced  a 
warrant  to  search  the  house;  which 
my  father  having  read,  he  bowed  his 
head,  and  gave  orders  not  to  hinder 
them  in  their  duty.  He  stood  himself 
the  while  in  the  hall,  his  face  as  white 
as  a  smock,  and  his  teeth  almost  run- 
ning through  his  lips. 

One  of  the  men  came  into  the 
library,  and  pulling  down  the  books, 
scattered  them  on  the  floor,  and  cried : 

"  Look  ye  here,  sirs,  what  Popish 
^tuff  is  this,  fit  for  the  hangman's 
burning ! "  At  the  which  another  an- 
swered : 

"  By  my  troth,  Sam,  I  misdoubt 
that  thou  canst  read.  Methinks  thou 
dost  hunt  Popery  as  dogs  do  game,  by 
the  scent.  Prithee  spell  me  the  title 
of  this  volume." 

"  I  will  have  none  of  thy  gibing. 
Master  Sevenoaks,"  returned  the 
other.  "Whether  I  be  a  scholar  or 
not,  I'll  warrant  no  honest  gospeller 
wrote  on  those  yellow  musty  leaves, 
which  be  two  hundred  years  old,  if 
they  be  a  day." 

"  And  I'll  warrant  thee  in  that  cre- 
dence. Master  Samuel,  by  the  same 
token  that  the  volume  in  thy  hand  is  a 
treatise  on  field-sports,  writ  in  the  days 
of  Master  Caxton ;  a  code  of  the  laws 
to  be  observed  in  the  hunting  and 
killing  of  deer,  which  I  take  to  be  no 
Popish  sport,  for  our  most  gracious 
queen — God  save  her  majesty! — 
slew  a  fat  buck  not  long  ago  in  Wind- 
sor Forest  with  her  own  hand,  and 
remembered  his  grace  of  Canterbury 
with  half  her  prey;"  and  so  saying,  he 
drew  Ids  comrade  from  the  room;  I 
ween  with  the  intent  to  save  the  books 
from  his  rough  handling,  for  he  seemed 
of  a  more  gentle  nature  than  the  rest 
and  of  a  more  moderate  disposition. 

When  they  had  ransacked  all  the 
rooms  below,  they  went  upstairs,  and 
my  father  followed.  Breaking  from  my 
mother's  side,  who  sat  pale  and  still  as 
a  statute,  unable  to  move  from  her 
seat,  I  ran  after  him,  and  on  the  land- 
ing-place   I    heard    the    sheriff   say 


somewhat  touching  the  harboring  of 
priests;  to  the  which  he  made  answer 
that  he  was  ready  to  swear  there  wa:5 
no  priest  in  the  house.  "Nor  has 
been?"  quoth  the  sheriff;  upon  which 
my  father  said : 

"  Good  sir,  this  house  was  built  iii 
the  days  of  her  majesty's  grandfatlicr. 
King  Henry  VII.;  and  on  one  occa- 
sion his  majesty  was  pleased  to  resi, 
under  my  grandfather's  roof,  and  to 
hear  mass  in  that  room,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  what  was  now  the  chapel, 
"  the  church  being  too  distant  for  his 
majesty's  convenience:  so  priests  have 
been  within  these  walls  many  times 
ere  I  was  bom." 

The  sheriff  said  no  more  at  that 
time,  but  went  into  the  room,  where 
there  were  only  a  few  chairs,  for  that 
in  the  night  the  altar  and  all  that 
appertained  to  it  had  been  removed. 
He  and  his  men  were  going  out  again, 
when  a  loud  knocking  was  heard 
against  the  wall  on  one  side  of  the 
chamber;  at  the  sound  of  which  my 
father's  face,  which  was  white  before, 
became  of  an  ashy  paleness. 

"Ah  !"  cried  one  of  the  pursuivants, 
"  the  lying  Papist !  The  egregious 
Roman !  an  oath  is  in  his  mouth  that 
he  has  no  priest  in  his  house,  and  here 
is  one  hidden  in  his  cupboard." 

"Mr.  Sherwood!"  the  sheriff 
shouted,  greatly  moved,  "lead  the 
way  to  the  hiding-place  wherein  a 
traitor  is  concealed,  or  I  order  the 
house  to  be  pulled  down  about  your 
cars." 

My  father  was  standing  like  one 
stunned  by  a  sudden  blow,  and  I 
heard  him  muraiur,  "  'Tis  the  devil's 
own  doing,  or  else  I  am  stark,  staring 
mad." 

The  men  ran  to  the  wall,  and 
knocked  against  it  with  their  sticks, 
crying  out  in  an  outrageous  manner 
to  the  priest  to  come  out  of  his  liolo. 
"  We'll  unearth  the  Jesuit  fox,"  cried 
one;  "we'll  give  him  a  belter  lod;;- 
ing  in  Lichfield  gaol,"  shouSeJ 
another;  and  the  "hr rtiBi'ihQit  threa.- 
cning  to  set  fire  to  the  Iiouscw-  Stiil  IhL' 
knocking  from  within  went  on,  ;i.3  ii' 


C<msta7iC3  Sherwood* 


33 


answering  that  outside,  and  then  a 
voice  cried  out,  "  I  cannot  open  :  I  am 
shut  in." 

"'Tis  Edmund!"  I  exclaimed; 
"  'tis  Edmund  is  in  the  hiding-place." 
And  then  the  words  were  distinctly 
heard,  "'Tis  I;  'tis  Edmund  Gen- 
ings.  For  God's  sake,  open  ;  I  am 
Guut  in."  Upon  which  my  father  drew 
a  deep  breath,  and  hastening  for- 
ward, pressed  his  finger  on  a,  place  in 
the  wall,  the  panel  slipped,  and  Ed- 
mund came  out  of  the  recess,  looking 
scared  and  confused.  The  pursuivants 
seized  him  ;  but  the  sherift*  cried  out, 
suqmsed,  "  God's  death,  sirs  !  but  'tis 
the  son  of  the  worshipful  Mr.  Gen- 
ings,  whose  lady  is  a  mother  in  Israel, 
and  M.  Jean  do  Lue's  first  cousin ! 
And  how  came  ye,  Mr.  Edmund,  to 
be  concealed  in  this  Popish  den? 
Have  these  recusants  imprisoned  you 
v/ith  some  foul  intent,  or  perverted 
you  by  their  vile  cunning  ?"  Edmund 
was  addressing  my  father  in  an  agi- 
tated Yolce. 

'  "  I  fear  me,  sir,"  he  cried,  clasping 
his  hands,  "  I  befear  me  much  I  have 
affrighted  you,  and  I  have  been  my- 
self sorely  affrighted.  I  was  passmg 
through  this  room,  which  I  have  never 
before  seen,  and  the  door  of  which 
was  open  tliis  mom.  By  chance  I 
drew  my  hand  along  the  wall,  where 
there  was  no  apparent  mark,  when  the 
panel  sHpped  and  disclosed  this  recess, 
into  which  I  stepped,  and  straight- 
way the  opening  closed  and  I  re- 
mained in  darkness.  I  was  afraid  no 
one  might  hear  me,  and  I  should  die 
of  hunger." 

My  father  tried  to  smile,  but  could 
not.  "  Thank  God,"  he  said,  "  'tis  no 
worse ;"  and  sinking  down  on  a  chair 
he  remained  silent,  whilst  the  sheriff 
and  the  pursuivants  examined  the 
recess,  which  was  deep  and  narrow, 
i  and  in  which  they  brandished  their 
I  swords  in  all  directions.  Then  they 
went  round  the  room,  feeling  the  walls ; 
but  though  there  was  anotUer  recess 
with  a  similar  mode  of  aperture,  they 
hit  not  on  it,  doubtless  through  God's 
mercy  j  for  in  it  w^ere  concealed  the 


altar  furniture  and  our  books,  with 
many  other  things  besides,  which  tliey 
would  have  seized  on. 

Before  going  away,  the  sheriff  ques- 
tioned Edmund  concerning  his  faith, 
and  for  what  reason  he  abode  in  a  Po- 
pish house  and  consorted  with  recu- 
sants. Edmund  answered  he  was  no 
Papist,  but  a  kinsman  of  Mrs.  Sher- 
wood, unto  Y/hosc  house  his  father  had 
oftentimes  sent  liim.  Upon  which  he 
was  counselled  to  take  heed  unto  him- 
self and  to  eschew  evil  company,  which 
leads  to  horrible  defections,  and  into 
the  straight  road  to  perdition.  AYhere- 
upon  they  departed;  and  the  officer 
who  had  enticed  his  companion  from 
the  hbrary  smiled  as  he  passed  me, 
and  said : 

"And  wherefore  not  at  pi*ayers,  lit- 
tle mistress,  on  the  Lord's  day,  as  all 
Christian  folks  should  be  ?" 

I  ween  he  was  curious  to  see  hov,^ 
I  should  answer,  albeit  not  moved 
thereunto  by  any  malicious  intent. 
But  at  the  time  I  did  not  bethink  my- 
self that  he  spoke  of  Protestant  ser- 
vice ;  and  being  angered  at  what  had 
passed,  I  said : 

"  Because  we  be  kept  ^ix>ta  praycro 
by  the  least  welcome  visit  ever  made 
to  Christian  folks  on  a  Lord's  day 
morning."     Ho  laughed  and  cried  : 

"  Thou  hast  a  ready  tongue,  young 
mistress ;  and  when  tried  for  recu- 
sancy I  warrant  thou'lt  give  the  judge 
a  piece  of  thy  mind." 

"  And  if  I  ever  bo  in  such  a  pres- 
ence, and  for  such  a  cause,"  I  an- 
swered, "  I  pray  to  God  I  may  say  to 
my  lord  on  the  bench  what  the  blessed 
apostle  St.  Peter  spoke  to  his  judges : 
*  If  it  be  just  in  the  sight  of  God  to 
hear  you  rather  than  God,  judge  ye.'  '* 
At  which  he  cried : 

"  Why,  here  is  a  marvel  indeed — a 
Papist  to  quote  Scripture !"  And  laugh- 
ing again,  he  went  his  way ;  and  the 
house  was  for  that  time  rid  of  these 
troublesome  guests. 

Then  Edmund  again  sued  for  par- 
don to  my  father,  that  through  his  rash 
conduct  he  had  been  the  occasion  of 
so  great  fear  and  trouble  to  him. 


34 


Cons'.anco  SJicrwood, 


"I  warrant  thco,  my'  good  boy," 
quoth  my  father,  "  thou  didst  cause  me 
the  most  keen  anguish,  and  the  most 
sudden  rehef  from  it,  which  can  well  be 
thought  of;  and  so  no  more  need  be 
said  thereon.  And  as  thou  must  needs 
be  going  to  the  public  church,  'tis  time 
that  thou  bestir  thyself;  for  'tis  a  long 
v/alk  there  and  back,  and  the  sun  wax- 
ing hot." 

AYhen  Edmund  was  gone,  and  I 
alone  with  him,  my  father  clasped  me 
in  his  arms,  and  cried : 

"  God  send,  my  wench,  thou  mayest 
justify  thy  sponsors  who  gave  thee  thy 
name  in  baptism  ;  for  'tis  a  rare  con- 
stancy these  times  do  call  for,  and 
such  as  is  not  often  seen,  saving  in 
such  as  be  of  a  noble  and  religious 
spirit ;  which  I  pray  to  God  may  be 
the  case  with  thee." 

My  mother  did  not  speak,  but  v/ent 
away  vrith  her  hand  pressed  against 
her  heart ;  which  was  what  of  late  I 
had  often  seen  her  to  do,  as  if  the  pain 
was  more  than  she  could  bear. 

One  hour  later,  as  I  was  crossing 
the  court,  a  man  met  me  suited  as  a 
farmer ;  who,  when  I  passed  him,  laid 
his  hand  on  my  shoulder;  at  the 
which  I  Gtarted,  and  turning  round 
saw  it  vfas  Father  Bryan ;  who,  smil- 
ing as  I  caught  his  hand,  cried  out : 

"Dost  knov/  the  shepherd  in  his 
wolfs  clothing,  little  mistress?"  and 
hastening  on  to  the  chapel  he  said 
mass,  at  the  v/hicli  only  a  fev/  assisted, 
as  my  parents  durst  not  send  to  the 
Catholics  so  late  in  the  day.  As  soon 
as  mass  wa3  over,  Mr.  Bryan  said  he 
must  leave,  for  there  was  a  warrant 
issued  for  his  apprehension ;  and  our 
house  famed  for  recusancy,  so  as  he 
might  not  stay  in  it  but  with  great 
peril  to  hlmsoU"  and  to  its  owners.  We 
stood  at  the  door  as  he  was  mounting 
his  horse,  and  my  father  said,  patting 
its  neck : 

"  'Tis  a  faithful  servant  this,  rever- 
end father ;  many  a  mile  he  lias  car- 
ried thee  to  the  homes  of  the  sick  and 
dying  since  our  troubles  began." 

"Ah!  good  Mr.  Sherwood,"  Mr. 
Bryan  replied,  as  he  gathered  un  the 


bridle,  "  thou  hast  indeecl  warrant  to 
style  the  poor  beast  faithful.  If  I  were 
to  shut  my  eyes  and  let  him  go,  no 
doubt  but  he  would  find  his  way  to  the 
doors  of  such  as  cleave  to  the  an- 
cient faith,  in  city  or  in  hamlet,  across 
moor  or  through  thick  wood.  If  a 
pursuivant  bestrode  him,  he  might  dis- 
cover through  his  means  who  be  re- 
cusants a  hundred  miles  around.  But 
I  bethink  me  he  would  not  budge  with 
such  a  burthen  on  his  back ;  and  that 
he  who  made  the  prophet's  ass  to  speak, 
would  give  the  good  beast  more  sense 
than  to  turn  informer,  and  to  carry  the 
wolf  to  the  folds  of  the  lambs.  And 
prithee,  Mistress  Constance,"  said  the 
good  priest,  turning  to  me,  "  canst  keep 
a  secret  and  be  silent,  when  men's 
lives  are  in  jeopardy  ?" 

"Aye,"  cried  my  father  quickly, 
"  'tis  as  much  as  worthy  Mr.  Bryan's 
life  is  worth  that  none  should  know  he 
was  here  to-day." 

"  More  than  my  poor  life  is  worth," 
he  rejoined  ;  "  that  were  little  to  think 
of,  my  gaod  friends.  For  five  years  I 
have  made  it  my  prayer  that  the  day 
may  soon  come — and  I  care"  not  how 
soon — when  I  may  lay  it  down  for  his 
sake  who  gave  it.  But  we  must  e'en 
have  a  care  for  those  who  are  so  rash 
as  to  harbor  priests  in  these  evil 
times.  So  Mistress  Constance  must 
e'en  study  the  virtue  of  silence,  and 
con  the  meaning  of  the  proverb  whicli 
teacheth  discretion  to  be  the  best  part 
of  valor." 

"If  Edmund  Genings  askelh  mc, 
reverend  father,  if  I  have  heard  mass 
to-day,  what  must  I  answer  ?" 

"  Say  the  queen's  majesty  has  for- 
bidden mass  to  be  said  in  this  her 
kingdom  ;  and  if  he  pi*csseth  thee  more 
closely  thereon,  why  then  tell  him  th(r 
last  news  from  the  poultry -yard,  and 
that  the  hares  have  eat  thy  mignon- 
ette ;  whicli  they  be  doing  even  now, 
if  my  eyes  deceive  me  not,"  said  the 
good  father,  pointing  with  his  wliii)  to 
the  flower-garden. 

So,  smiling,  he  gave  us  a  last  bless- 
ing, and  rode  on  toward  the  Cliase, 
and  I  went  to  drhc  the  hares  awav 


Constance  Sherwood, 


35 


from  the  flower-beds,  and  then  to  set 
the  chapel  in  fair  order.  And  ever 
and  anon,  that  day  and  tlie  next,  I 
took  out  of  my  pocket  my  sweet  .Lady 
Surrey's  last  letter,  and  pictured  to 
myself  all  the  scenes  therein  related ; 
so  that  I  seemed  to  live  one-half  of  my 
life  with  her  m  thought,  so  greatly  was 
my  fancy  set  upon  her,  and  my  heart 
concerned  in  her  troubles. 


CHAPTER  V. 

l^OT  many  days  after  the  sheriff  and 
the  pursuivants  had  been  at  our  house, 
and  Mr.  Bryan,  by  reason  of  the 
bloody  laws  which  had  been  enacted 
against  Papists  and  such  as  harbor 
priests,  had  left  us, — though  mtending 
to  return  at  such  times  as  might  serve 
our  commodity,  and  yet  not  affect  our 
safety, — I  was  one  morning  assisting 
my  mother  in  the  store-room,  wherein 
fihe  was  setting  aside  such  provisions  as 
were  to  be  distributed  to  the  poor  tliat 
week,  together  with  salves,  medicines, 
and  the  like,  which  she  also  gave  out 
of  charity,  when  a  spasm  came  over 
her,  so  vehement  and  painful,  that  for 
the  moment  she  lost  the  use  of  speech, 
and  made  signs  to  me  to  call  for  help. 
I  ran  affrighted  into  the  library  for  my 
father,  and  brought  him  to  her,  upon 
which,  in  a  little  time,  she  did  some- 
what recover,  but  desired  he  would 
assist  her  to  her  own  chamber,  whither 
she  went  leaning  on  his  arm.  When 
laid  on  her  bed  she  seemed  easier; 
and  smiling,  bade  me  leave  them  for 
awhile,  for  that  she  desired  to  have 
speech  with  my  father  alone. 

For  the  space  of  an  hour  I  walked 
m  the  garden,  with  so  oppressive  a 
grief  at  my  heart  as  I  had  never  be- 
fore experienced.  Me  thinks  the  great 
stillness  in  the  air  added  thereunto 
some  sort  of  physical  disorder ;  for 
the  weather  was  very  close  and  heavy ; 
and  it'  a  leaf  did  but  stir,  I  started  as 
if  danger  was  at  hand;  and  the  noise 
of  the  chattering  pies  over  my  head 
workodjn  me  an  apprehensive  melan- 


choly, foreboding,  I  doubt  not,  what 
was  to  follow.  At  about  eleven 
o'clock,  hearing  the  sound  of  a  horse's 
feet  in  the  avenue,  I  turned  round, 
and  saw  Edmund  riding  from  the 
house ;  upon  which  I  ran  across  the 
grass  to  a  turning  of  the  road  where  he 
would  pass,  and  called  to  him  to  sto;), 
which  he  did ;  and  told  me  he  wa:3 
going  to  Lichfield  for  his  father, 
whom  my  mother  desired  presently 
to  see.  "Then  thou  shouldst  not 
tarry,"  I  said ;  and  he  pushed  on  and 
left  me  standing  where  I  was  ;  but  the 
bell  then  ringing  for  dinner,  I  went 
back  to  the  house,  and,  in  so  domg, 
took  notice  of  a  bay-tree  on  the  lawn 
which  was  withered  and  dried-up, 
though  the  gardener  had  been  at  pains 
to  preserve  it  by  sundry  appliances  and 
frequent  watering  of  it.  Then  it  came 
to  my  remembrance  what  my  nurse 
used  to  say,  that  the  dying  of  that 
sort  of  tree  is  a  sure  omen  of  a  death 
in  a  family ;  which  thought  sorely  dis- 
turbed me  at  that  time.  I  sat  dov/r. 
with  my  father  to  a  brief  and  silent 
meal;  and  soon  after  the  physician  he 
had  sent  for  came,  whom  he  con- 
ducted to  my  mother's  chamber, 
whereunto  I  did  follow,  and  slipped  in 
unperceived.  Sitting  on  one  side  of 
the  bed,  behind  the  curtains,  I  heard 
her  say,  in  a  voice  which  sounded 
hollow^  and  weak,  "  Good  Master 
Lawrenson,  my  dear  husband  was 
fain  to  send  for  you,  and  I  cared  not 
to  v/ithstand  him,  albeit  persuaded 
that  I  am  hastening  to  my  journey's 
end,  and  that  naught  that  you  or  any 
other  man  may  prescribe  may  stay 
w^hat  is  God's  v/ill.  And  if  this  bo 
visible  to  you  as  it  is  to  me,  I  pray 
you  keep  it  not  from  me,  for  it  will  bo 
to  my  much  comfort  to  be  assured 
of  it." 

When  she  had  done  speaking,  hv 
did  feel  her  pulse;  and  the  while  ra}' 
heart  beat  so  quick  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  so  loud  as  if  it  must  needs  im- 
pede my  hearing  ;  but  in  a  moment  I 
heard  him  say  :  "  God  defend,  good 
madam,  I  should  deceive  you.  While* 
there  is  life,  there  is  hope.     Greater 


36 


Constance  Sherwood, 


comfort  I  dare  not  urge.  If  llicre  be 
any  temporal  matter  on  your  mind, 
'twere  better  settled  now,  and  likewise 
of  your  soul's  health,  by  such  pious 
exercises  as  are  used  by  those  of 
your  way  of  thinking." 

At  the  hearing  of  these  his  words, 
my  father  fetched  a  deep  sigh;  but 
she,  as  one  greatly  relieved,  clasped 
her  hands  together,  and  cried,  "  My 
God,  I  thank  thee !" 

Then,  steahng  from  behind  the  cur- 
tain, I  laid  my  head  on  the  pillow  nigh 
unto  hers,  and  whispered,  "  Sweet 
mother,  prithee  do  not  die,  or  else  take 
me  with  thee." 

But  she,  as  one  not  heeding,  ex- 
claimed, with  her  hands  uplifted,  "  O 
faithless  heart !  O  selfish  heart !  to 
be  so  glad  of  death !" 

The  physician  was  directing  the 
maids  what  they  should  do  for  her 
relief  when  the  pain  came  on,  and  he 
himself  stood  compounding  some  med- 
icine for  her  to  take.  My  father  asked 
of  him  when  he  next  would  come ; 
and  he  answered,  "  On  the  morrow ;" 
but  methinks  'twas  even  then  his  be- 
lief that  there  would  be  no  mon-ow 
for  her  who  was  dying  before  her 
time,  like  the  bay-tree  in  our  garden. 
She  bade  him  farewell  in  a  kindly 
fashion  ;  and  when  we  were  alone,  I 
lying  on  the  bed  by  her  side,  and  my 
i'ather  sitting  at  its  head,  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  *'  How  wonderful  be 
God's  dealings  with  us,  and  how  fath- 
erly his  care ;  in  that  he  takes  the 
weak  unto  himself,  and  leaves  behind 
the  strong  to  fight  the  battle  now  at 
hand!  My  dear  master,  I  had  a 
dream  yesternight  which  had  some- 
what of  horror  in  it,  but  more  me- 
thinks of  comfort."  My  father  break- 
ing out  then  in  sighs  and  tears  as  if 
his  heart  would  break,  she  said,  "  Oh, 
but  thou  must  hear  and  acknowledge, 
my  loved  master,  how  gracious  is 
God's  providence  to  thy  poor  wife. 
When  thou  knowcst  what  I  have  suf- 
fered— not  in  body,  though  that  has 
been  sharp  too,  but  in  my  soul — it 
will  reconcile  thine  own  to  a  parting 
which  has  in  it   so  much  of  mercy. 


Thou  dost  remember  the  night  when 
Mr.  Mush  was  here,  and  what  his  dis- 
course did  run.  on  ?" 

*'  Surely  do  I,  sweet  wife,"  he  an- 
swered ;  "  for  it  v/as  such  as  the  mind 
doth  not  easily  lose  the  memory  of; 
the  sufferings  and  glorious  end  of  the 
blessed  martyr  Mrs.  Ciithcrow.  I 
perceived  what  sorrowful  heed  thou 
didst  lend  to  his  recital;  but  has  it 
painfully  dwelt  in  thy  mind  since  ? ' 

"  By  day  and  by  night  it  hath  not 
left  me ;  ever  recurring  to  my 
thoughts,  ever  haunting  ray  dreams, 
and  working  in  me  a  fearful  apprehen- 
sion lest  in  a  lilvc  trial  I  should  be 
found  wanting,  and  prove  a  traitor  to 
God  and  his  Church,  and  a  disgraco 
and  heartbreak  to  thee  who  hast  so 
truly  loved  me  far  beyond  my  deserts. 
I  have  bragged  of  the  dangers  of  the 
times,  even  as  cowards  are  wont  to 
speak  loud  in  the  dark  to  still  by  the 
sound  of  their  own  voices  the  terrors 
they  do  feel.  I  have  had  before  my 
eyes  the  picture  of  that  cruel  death, 
and  of  the  children  extremely  used  for 
answering  as  their  mother  had  taught 
them,  till  cold  drops  of  sweat  have 
stood  on  my  brow,  and  I  have  knelt 
in  my  chamber  wringing  my  hands 
and  praying  to  be  spared  a  like  trial. 
And  then,  maybe  an  hour  later,  sit- 
ting at  the  table,  I  spake  merrily  or 
the  gallows,  mocking  my  own  fears,  as 
when  Mr.  Bryan  was  last  here ;  and 
I  said  that  priests  should  be  more 
welcome  to  me  than  ever  they  were, 
now  that  virtue  and  the  Catholic  cause 
were  made  felony ;  and  the  same  would 
be  in  God's  sight  more  meritorious 
than  ever  before  :  upon  which,  '  Then 
you  must  prepare  your  neck  for  tlie 
rope,'  quoth  he,  in  a  pleasant  buo 
withal  serious  manner ;  at  the  which  a 
cold  chill  overcame  me,  and  I  very 
well-nigh  fainted,  though  constraining 
my  tongue  to  say,  '  God's  will  bo 
done  ;  but  I  am  far  unworthy  of  so 
great  an  honor.'  The  cowardly  hear; 
beUcd  the  confident  tongue,  and  fear 
of  my  own  weakness  affrighted  nic, 
by  the  which  I  must  needs  have 
offended  God,  who  helps  such  as  trust 


Constance  Sherwood, 


37 


in  him.  But  I  hope  to  be  forgiven, 
inasmuch  as  it  has  ever  been  the  wont 
of  my  poor  thoughts  to  picture  evils 
beforehand  in  such  a  form  as  to  scare 
the  soul,  which,  when  it  came  to  meet 
with  them,  was  not  shaken  from  its 
constancy.  When  Conny  was  an 
infant  I  have  stood  nigh  unto  a  win- 
dow with  her  in  my  arms,  and  of  a 
sudden  a  terror  would  seize  me  lest  I 
should  let  her  fall  out  of  my  hands, 
which  yet  clasped  her  ;  and  me  thinks 
'twas  somewhat  of  alike  feeling  which 
worked  in  me  touching  the  denying  of 
jny  faith,  which,  God  is  my  witness, 
is  dearer  io  mc  than  aught  upon 
cardi." 

"  'Tis  even  so,  sweet  wife,"  quoth 
my  father ;  "  the  edge  of  a  too  keen 
conscience  and  a  sensitive  apprehen- 
sion of  defects  visible  to  thine  own 
eyes  ^  and  God's — never  to  mine,  who 
was  ever  made  happy  by  thy  love  and 
virtue — have  worn  cut  the  frame 
v;hlch  enclosed  them,  and  will  rob 
me  of  the  dearest  cozafbrt  of  my  life,  if 
I  must  lose  thee." 

She  looked  upon  him  v/Ith  so  much 
Gweetness,  as  if  the  approach  of  death 
had  brought  her  greater  peace  and 
joy  than  life  had  ever  done,  and  she 
replied :  "  Death  comes  to  me  as  a 
compassionate  angel,  and  I  fain  would 
have  thee  v/elcome  with  mc  the  kindly 
messenger  who  brings  so  great  relief 
to  the  poor  heart  thou  hast  so  long 
cherished.  Now,  thou  art  called  to 
another  task ;  and  when  the  bruised, 
broken  reed  is  removed  from  thy  side, 
thou  wilt  follow  the  summons  v/hlch 
even  no^v  sounds  in  thine  cars.'' 

"  Ah,"  cried  my  father,  clasping  her 
hand,  "  art  thou  then  already  a  saint, 
sweet  wife,  that  thou  hast  read  the 
vow  slowly  registered  as  yet  in  the 
depths  of  a  riven  heart?"  Then  his 
eyes  turned  on  me;  and  she,  who 
ceemed  to  know  his  thoughts,  that 
sv/eet  soul  who  had  been  so  silent  in 
life,  but  Avas  now  spending  her  last 
breath  in  never-to-be-forgotten  words, 
answered  the  question  contained  in 
that  glance  as  if  it  had  been  framed  in 
a  set  sp^ch. 


"  Fear  not  for  her,"  she  said,  laying 
her  cheek  close  unto  mine.  "  As  her 
days,  so  shall  her  strength  be.  Me- 
thinks  Almighty  God  has  given  her 
a  spirit  meet  for  the  age  in  which  her 
lot  is  cast.  The  early  training  thou 
hast  had,  my  wench ;  the  lack  of  such 
memories  as  make  the  present  twofold 
bitter  ;  the  familiar  mention  round  thy 
cradle  of  such  trials  as  do  beset  Catho- 
lics in  these  days,  have  nurtured  in 
thee  a  stoutness  of  heart  which  will 
stand  thee  in  good  stead  amidst  the 
rough  waves  of  this  troublesome 
world.  The  iron  will  not  enter  into 
thy  soul  as  it  hath  done  into  mine." 
Upon  which  she  fell  back  exhausted  ; 
and  for  a  wliile  no  sound  was  heard 
in  or  about  the  house  save  the  barking 
of  our  great  dog. 

My  father  had  sent  a  lessenger  to 
a  house  where  we  had  had  notice  some 
days  before  Father  Ford  was  staying, 
but  with  no  certain  knowledge  he  v/as 
sdll  there,  or  any  other  priest  in  tho 
neighborhood,  which  occasioned  him 
no  small  disquietude,  for  my  moihei''o 
sii'ength  ceemed  to  bo  visibly  sinking, 
which  vv^as  what  the  doctor's  words  had 
led  him  to  expect.  The  man  he  had 
sent  returned  not  till  the  evening ;  but 
in  the  afternoon  Mr.  Genlngs  and  his 
son  came  from  Lichfield,  which,  when 
my  mother  heard,  she  said  God  was 
gracious  to  permit  her  once  more  to 
see  John,  which  was  Mr.  Genings' 
name.  They  had  been  reared  in  the 
same  house  ;  and  a  kindness  had  al- 
ways continued  betvrixt  them.  For 
some  time  past  he  had  conformed  to 
the  times ;  and  since  his  marriage  with 
the  daughter  of  a  French  Hugueno' 
who  lived  in  London,  and  who  v/as  a 
lady  of  very  commendable  character 
and  manners,  and  strenuous  in  her 
own  way  of  thinking,  he  had  left  oS 
practising  his  own  religion  in  secret, 
which  for  a  while  he  used  to  do.  When 
he  came  in,  and  saw  death  plainly  v/rit 
in  his  cousin's  face,  he  was  greatly 
moved,  and  knelt  down  by  her  side 
with  a  very  sorrowful  countenance ; 
upon  which  she  straightly  looked  at 
him,   and  said :    *•  Cousin  John,  my 


38 


Constance  Sherwood, 


breatli  is  very  short,  as  my  time  is  also 
like  to  be.  But  one  word  I  would 
fain  say  to  thee  before  I  die.  I  was 
always  well  pleased  with  my  religion, 
which  was  once  thine  and  that  of  all 
Christian  people  one  hundred  years 
ago ;  but  I  have  never  been  so  well 
pleased  with  it  as  now,  when  I  be  about 
to  meet  my  Judge." 

Mr.  Genings'  features  worked  with 
a  strange  passion,  in  which  was  more 
of  grief  than  displeasure,  and  grasping 
his  son's  shoulder,  who  was  likewise 
kneeling  and  weeping,  he  said :  "  You 
have  wrought  with  this  boy,  cousin,  to 
make  him  a  Catholic." 

"As  heaven  is  my  witness,"  she 
answered,  "not  otherwise  but  by  my 
prayers." 

"  Hast  thou  seen  a  priest,  cousin 
Constance  ?"  he  then  asked :  upon 
which  my  mother  not  answering,  the 
poor  man  burst  into  tears,  and  cried  : 
"  Oh,  cousin — cousin  Constance,  dost 
count  me  a  spy,  and  at  thy  death-bed  ?" 

He  seemed  cut  to  the  heart ;  where- 
upon she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  said 
she  hoped  God  would  send  her  such 
ghostly  assistance  as  she  stood  in  need 
of;  and  praying  God  to  bless  him  and 
his  wife  and  children,  and  make  them 
his  faithful  servants,  so  she  might  meet 
them  all  in  perpetual  happiness,  she 
spoke  with  such  good  cheer,  and  then 
bade  him  and  Edmund  farewell  with 
so  pleasant  a  smile,  as  deceived  them 
into  thinking  her  end  not  so  near. 
And  so,  after  a  while,  they  took  their 
leave  ;  upon  which  she  composed  her- 
self for  a  while  in  silence,  occupying 
her  thoughts  in  prayer  ;  and  toward 
evening,  through  God's  mercy,  albeit 
the  messenger  had  returned  with  the 
heavy  news  that  Father  Ford  had  left 
the  county  some  days  back,  it  hap- 
pened that  Mr.  Watson,  a  secular  priest 
who  had  lately  arrived  in  England, 
and  was  on  his  way  to  Chester,  stopped 
at  our  house,  whereunto  Mr.  Orton, 
whom  he  had  seen  in  prison  at  London, 
had  directed  him  for  his  own  conven- 
ience on  the  road,  and  likewise  our 
commodity,  albeit  little  thinking  how 
great  our  need  would  bo  at  that  time 


of  so  opportune  a  guest,  through  whose 
means  that  dear  departing  soul  had 
the  benefit  of  the  last  sacraments  with 
none  to  trouble  or  molest  her,  and  such 
ghostly  aid  as  served  to  smooth  her 
passage  to  what  has  proved,  I  doubt 
not,  the  beginning  of  a  happy  eternity, 
if  we  may  judge  by  such  tokens  as  the 
fervent  acts  of  contrition  she  made 
both  before  and  after  shrift,  such  as 
might  have  served  to  v/ash  away  ten 
thousand  sins  through  his  blood  who 
cleansed  her,  and  her  great  and  peace- 
able joy  at  receiving  him  into  her 
heart  whom  she  soon  trusted  to  behold. 
Her  last  Avords  were  expressions  of 
wonder  and  gratitude  at  God's  singu- 
lar mercy  shown  unto  her  in  the  quiet 
manner  of  her  death  in  the  midst  ol' 
such  troublesome  times.  And  me- 
thinks,  when  the  silver  cord  vra.3 
loosed,  and  naught  v/as  left  of  her  on 
earth  save  the  fair  coq^sc  which  re- 
tained in  death  the  semblance  it  had 
had  in  life,  that  together  with  the  nat- 
ural grief  v/hlch  ibund  vent  in  tear^, 
there  remained  in  the  hearts  of  sucli 
as  loved  her  a  comfortable  sense  of  the 
Divine  goodness  manifested  in-thls  her 
peaceable  removal. 

How  great  the  change  v/jiich  tha. 
day  wrought  in  me  may  be  judged  or" 
by  such  who,  at  the  age  I  had  then 
reached  to,  have  met  Avith  a  like  afflic- 
tion, coupled  with  a  sense  of  duties  to 
be  fulfilled,  such  as  then  fell  to  my  lot, 
both  as  touching  household  cares,  and 
in  respect  to  the  cheering  of  my  father 
in  his  solitary  hours  during  the  time 
we  did  yet  continue  at  Sherwood  Hall, 
which  was  about  a  year.  It  waxed 
very  hard  then  for  priests  to  make 
their  way  to  the  houses  of  Catholics, 
as  many  now  found  it  to  their  interest 
to  inform  against  them  and  such  as 
harbored  them ;  and  mostly  in  our 
neighborhood,  wherein  there  were  at 
that  time  no  recusants  of  so  great  rank 
and  note  that  the  sheriff  would  not  be 
lief  to  meddle  with  them.  We  had 
oftentimes  had  secret  advices  to  beware 
of  such  and  such  of  our  servants  who 
might  betray  our  hidden  conveyances 
of  safety ;  and  my  father  scai'cely  dui*st 


Constance  S!ierwood, 


39 


be  sharp  with  them  when  they  offend- 
ed by  slackhig  then*  duties,  lest  tliey 
might  bring  us  into  danger  if  they  re- 
vealed, upon  any  displeasure,  priests 
liaving  abided  with  us.  Edmund  we 
saw  no  more  since  my  mother's  death ; 
and  after  a  v/hile  the  news  did  reach 
113  that  Mr.  Genings  had  died  of  the 
small-pox,  and  left  his  wife  in  so  dis- 
tressed a  condition,  against  all  expec- 
tation, owing  to  debts  he  had  incurred, 
that  she  had  been  constrained  to  sell 
her  house  and  furniture,  and  was  living 
in  a  small  lodging  near  unto  the  school 
where  Edmund  continued  his  studies. 

I  noticed,  as  time  went  by,  how 
heavily  it  weighed  on  my  father's  heart 
to  see  so  many  Catholics  die  without 
the  sacraments,  or  fall  away  from  their 
faith,  for  lack  of  priests  to  instruct 
Ihem,  like  so  many  sheep  without  a 
shepherd ;  and  I  guessed  by  words  h3 
let  fall  on  divers  occasions,  that  the  in- 
tent obscurely  shadowed  forth  in  his 
discourse  to  my  mother  on  her  death- 
bed was  ripening  to  a  settled  purpose, 
and  tending  to  a  change  in  his  state 
■jf  life,  -which  only  his  love  and  care 
for  mo  caused  him  to  defer.  What  I 
did  apprehend  must  one  day  needs 
occur,  was  hastened  about  this  time  by 
a  warning  he  did  receive  that  on  an 
approaching  day  he  would  be  appre- 
hended and  carried  by  the  sheriff  be- 
fore the  council  at  Lichfield,  to  be  ex- 
amined touching  recusancy  and  har- 
bormg  of  priests  ;  which  was  w^hat  he 
had  long  expected.  This  message  was, 
as  it  were,  the  signal  he  had  been 
waiting  for,  and  an  indication  of  God's 
will  in  his  regard.  He  made  instant 
provision  for  the  placing  of  his  estate 
in  the  hands  of  a  friend  of  such  singu- 
lar honesty  and  so  faithful  a  friendship 
toward  himself,  though  a  Protestant, 
that  he  could  wholly  trust  him.  And 
next  he  set  himself  to  dispose  of  her 
whom  he  did  term  his  most  dear  earth- 
ly treasure,  and  his  sole  tie  to  this 
])erishable  world,  which  he  resolved  to 
do  by  straightway  sending  her  to  Lon- 
don, unto  his  sister  Mistress  Congleton, 
who  had  oftentimes  offered,  since  his 
wife's  death,  to  take  charge  of  this 


daughter,  and  to  whom  he  now  de- 
spatched a  messenger  v/ith  a  letter, 
wherein  he  wrote  that  the  times  were 
now  so  troublesome,  he  must  needs 
leave  his  home,  and  take  advantage  of 
the  sisterly  favor  she  had  willed  to 
show  him  in  the  care  of  his  sole  child, 
whom  he  now  ^vould  forthwith  send  to 
London,  commending  her  to  her  good 
keeping,  touching  her  safety  and  re- 
ligious and  virtuous  training,  and  that 
he  should  be  more  beholden  to  her 
than  ever  brother  was  to  sister,  and,  as 
long  as  he  lived,  as  he  was  bound  to 
do,  pray  for  her  and  her  good  husband. 
When  this  letter  was  gone,  and  order 
had  been  taken  for  my  journey,  which 
was  to  be  on  horseback,  and  in  the 
charge  of  a  maiden  gentlewoman  who 
had  been  staying  some  months  in  our 
neighborhood,  and  w^as  now  about  in 
tw^o  days  to  travel  to  London,  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  that  which  I  had  long  ex- 
pected and  pictured  unto  myself  had 
now  come  upon  mo  of  a  sudden,  and 
in  such  wise  as  for  the  first  time  to 
taste  its  bitterness.  For  I  saw,  with- 
out a  doubt,  that  this  parting  was  but 
the  forerunner  of  a  change  in  my  fath- 
er's condition  as  great  and  weighty  as 
could  w^ell  be  thought  of.  But  of  this, 
howbeit  our  thoughts  were  full  of  it, 
no  talk  was  ministered  between  us. 
lie  said  I  should  hear  from  him  in 
London ;  and  that  he  should  now  travel 
into  Lancashire  and  Cheshire,  changing 
his  name,  and  often  shifting  his  quar- 
ters whilst  the  present  danger  lasted. 
The  day  which  was  to  be  the  last  to 
see  us  in  the  house  wherein  himself 
and  his  fathers  for  many  centuries 
back,  and  I  his  unworthy  child,  had 
been  born,  was  spent  in  such  fashion 
as  becometh  those  w^ho  suffer  for  con- 
science sake,  and  that  is  with  so  much 
sorrow  as  must  needs  be  felt  by  a 
loving  father  and  a  dutiful  child  in  a 
first  and  doubtful  partmg,  with  so  much 
regret  as  is  natm*al  in  the  abandon- 
ment of  a  peaceful  earthly  home, 
wherein  God  had  been  served  in  a 
jCatholic  manner  for  many  generations 
and  up  to  that  time  without  discontinu- 
ance, only  of  late  years  as  it  were  by 


40 


ConstcuicG   Sherwood. 


Tiiglit  and  stealth,  which  was  linked 
in  tlieir  memories  with  sundry  in- 
nocent joys  and  pleasures,  and  such 
griefs  as  do  hallow  and  endear  the 
visible  scenes  wherewith  they  he 
connectod,  but  withal  with  a  stout- 
ness of  heart  in  him,  and  a  youth- 
ful steadiness  in  her  whom  he  had 
infected  with  a  like  courage  unto 
his  own,  Avhich  wrought  in  them  so 
as  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  shed  no 
more  tears  on  so  moving  an  occa- 
sion tlian  tlie  debility  of  her  nature 
and  the  tenderness  of  his  paternal 
care  extorted  from  their  eyes  when 
lie  placed  her  on  her  horse,  and  the 
bridle  in  the  hand  of  the  servant 
who  was  to  accompany  her  to  Lon- 
don. Their  last  parting  was  a 
brief  one,  and  such  as  I  care  not  to 
be  minute  in  describing  ;  for  think- 
ing upon  it  even  now  'tis  like  to 
make  me  weep  ;  which  I  would  not 
do  whilst  writing  this  history,  in 
the  recital  of  which  there  should 
be  more  of  constancy  and  thank- 
ful rejoicing  in  God's  great  mercies 
than  of  womanish  softness  in  look- 
ing back  to  past  trials.  So  I  will 
even  break  off  at  this  point ;  and  in 
the  next  chapter  relate  the  course 
of  the  journey  which  was  begun 
on  that  day. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

I  WAS  to  travel,  as  had  been 
ordered  for  our  mutual  conveni- 
ence and  protection,  with  Mistress 
Ward,  a  gentlewoman  who  resided 
some  months  in  our  vicinity,  and 
had  heard  Mass  in  our  chapel  on 
such  rare  occasions  as  of  late  had 
occurred  Avhen  a  priest  was  at  our 
house,  and  Ave  had  commodity  to 
give  notice  thereof  to  such  as  were 
Catholic  in  the  adjacent  villages. 
We  had  with  us  on  the  journey  two 
serving-men  and  a  waiting-woman, 
who  had  been  my  mother's  cham- 
bermaid ;  and  so  accompanied,  we 


set  out  on  our  way,  singing  as  Ave 
Avent,  for  greater  safety,  the  litanies 
of  our  Lady,  to  AA^hom  Ave  did  com- 
mend ourselves,  as  my  father  had 
Avilled  us  to  do,  Avith  many  fervent 
prayers.  The  gentlcAvoman  to 
Avhose  charge  I  was  committed  Avas 
a  lady  of  singular  zeal  and  discre- 
tion, as  well  as  great  virtue  ;  albeit, 
Avhere  religion  Avas  not  concerned, 
of  an  exceeding  timid  disposi- 
tion, which,  to  my  no  small  diver- 
sion then,  and  great  shame  since,  I 
took  particular  notice  of  on  this 
journey.  Much  talk  had  been 
ministered  in  the  county  touching 
the  number  of  rogues  and  vaga- 
bonds Avhich  infested  the  public 
roads,  of  Avhich  sundry  had  been 
taken  up  and  Avhipped  during  the 
last  months,  in  Lichfield,  Stafford, 
and  other  places.  I  did  perceive 
that  good  Mistress  Ward  glanced 
uneasily  as  we  rode  along  at  every 
foot-passenger  or  horseman  that 
came  in  sight.  Albeit  my  heart 
Avas  heavy,  and  may  be  also  that 
Avhen  the  affections  are  .inclined 
to  tears  they  be  likewise  prone 
to  laughter,  I  scarce  could  re- 
strain from  smiling  at  these  her 
fears  and  the  manner  of  her  show- 
ing them. 

"  Mistress  Constance,"  she  said  at 
last,  as  Ave  came  to  the  foot  of  a 
steep  ascent,  "  methinks  you  haA^e 
a  great  heart  concerning  the  dan- 
gers which  may  befall  us  on  the 
road,  and  that  the  sight  of  a  rob- 
ber would  move  you  not  one  A\^hit 
more  than  that  of  an  honest  ped- 
lar or  haAvker,  such  as  I  take  those 
men  to  be  who  are  mounting  the 
hill  in  advance  of  us.  Doth  it 
not  seem  to  you  that  the  box  AA'hich 
they  do  carry  betokens  them  to 
be  such  Avorthy  persons  as  I  Avish 
them  to  prove  ?" 

"  Now  surely,"  I  answered,  "good 
Mistress  Ward,  'tis  my  oi)inion 
that  they  be  not  such  lionest 
knaves  as  you  do  suppose.     I  per- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


41 


ceivc  somewhat  I  mislike  in  the 
shape  of  that  box.  What  an  if  it 
be  framed  to  entice  travellers  to 
their  ruin  by  such  disj^lays  and 
shows  of  rare  ribbons  and  gew- 
gaws as  may  prove  the  means  of 
detaining  them  on  the  road,  and 
a-robbing  of  them  in  the  end  ?" 

Mistress  Ward  laughed,  and 
commended  my  jesting,  but  was 
yet  ill  at  ease;  and,  as  a  mis- 
chievous and  thouglitless  creature, 
I  did  somewhat  excite  and  main- 
tain her  fears,  in  order  to  set  her 
on  asking  questions  of  our  atten- 
dants touching  the  perils  of  the 
road,  which  led  them  to  relate 
such  fearful  stories  of  what  they 
had  seen  of  this  sort  as  served  to 
increase  her  apprehensions,  and 
greatly  to  divert  me,  who  had  not 
the  like  fears;  but  rather  enter- 
tained myself  w^ith  hers,  in  a  man- 
ner Buch  as  I  have  been  since 
ashamed  to  think  of,  Avho  should 
have  kissed  the  ground  on  which 
she  had  trodden. 

The  fairness  of  the  sky,  the 
beauty  of  the  field  and  hedges,  the 
motion  of  the  horse,  stirred  up  my 
spirits;  albeit  my  heart  was  at 
moments  so  brimful  of  sorrows  that 
I  hated  my  tongue  for  its  wanton- 
ness, my  eyes  for  their  curious 
gazing,  and  my  fancy  for  its  eager 
thoughts  anent  London  and  the 
new  scenes  I  should  behold  there. 
What  mostly  dwelt  in  them  was 
the  hope  to  see  my  Lady  Surry,  of 
whom  I  had  had  of  late  but  brief 
and  scanty  tidings.  The  last  letter 
I  had  from  her  was  w^rit  at  the  time 
when  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  was  for 
the  second  time  thrown  in  the 
Tower,  which  she  said  was  the 
greatest  sorrow  that  had  befallen 
her  since  the  death  of  my  Lady 
Monteagle,  which  had  happened  at 
his  grace's  house  a  few  months 
back,  with  all  the  assistance  slie 
desired  touching  her  religion.  She 
had   been  urged,  my  Lady  Surry 


said,  by  the  duke  some  time  before 
to  do  something  contrary  to  her 
faith;  but  though  slie  much  es- 
teemed and  respected  him,  her  an- 
swer was  so  round  and  resolutf 
that  he  never  mentioned  the  like  t«> 
her  any  more.  Since  then  I  h;i<l 
no  more  tidings  of  her,  who  was 
dearer  to  me  than  our  brief  ac- 
quaintance and  the  slender  tie  of 
such  correspondence  as  had  taken 
place  between  us  might  in  most 
cases  warrant ;  but  whether  owing 
to  some  congeniality  of  mind,  or 
to  a  presentiment  of  future  friend- 
ship, 'tis  most  certain  my  heart 
was  bound  to  her  in  an  extra- 
ordinary manner;  so  that  sin- 
was  the  continual  theme  of  my 
thoughts  and  mirror  of  my  fancy. 
The  first  night  of  our  journey 
we  lay  at  a  small  inn,  Avhich  was 
held  by  persons  Mistress  Ward 
was  acquainted  with,  and  by  whom 
we  were  entertained  in  a  decent 
chamber,  looking  on  unto  a  little 
garden,  and  with  as  much  comfoi  t 
as  the  fashion  of  the  place  miglit 
afford,  and  greater  cleanliness  than 
is  often  to  be  found  in  larger  hos- 
telries.  After  supper,  being  some- 
what weary  with  travel,  but  not 
yet  inclined  for  bed,  and  the  even- 
ing fine,  w^e  sat  out  of  doors  in  a 
bower  of  eglantine  near  to  some 
bee-hives,  of  which  our  hostess  had 
a  great  store ;  and  methinks  she 
took  example  from  them,  for  we 
could  see  her  through  the  window 
as  busy  in  the  kitchen  amongst  her 
maids  as  the  queen-bee  amidst  her 
subjects.  Mistress  Ward  took  oc- 
casion to  observe,  as  we  watched 
one  of  these  little  commonwealths 
of  nature,  that  she  admired  how 
they  do  live,  laboring  and  swarm 
ing,  and  gathering  honey  to- 
gether so  neat  and  finely,  tliai 
they  abhor  nothing  so  mucli 
as  uncleanliness,  drinking  puic 
and  clear  water,  even  the  de^- 
drops   on   the   leaves  and  flowers. 


Constance  Sherwood. 


and  delighting  in  sweet  music,  which 
if  tliey  hear  but  once  out  of  tune  they 
fly  out  of  sight. 

"  Tiiey  live,"  she  said,  "  under  a 
law,  and  use  great  reverence  to  their 
elders.  Every  one  hath  his  office ; 
some  trimming  the  honey,  another 
framing  hives,  another  the  combs. 
When  they  go  forth  to  work,  they  mark 
the  wind  and  the  clouds,  and  whatso- 
ever doth  threaten  their  ruin ;  and 
having  gathered,  out  of  every  flower, 
honey,  they  return  loaded  in  their 
mouths  and  on  their  wings,  whom  they 
that  tarried  at  home  receive  readily, 
easing  their  backs  of  their  groat 
burthens  with  as  great  care  as  can  be 
thought  of." 

"  Methinks,"  I  answered, "  that  if  it 
be  as  you  say,  Mistress  Ward,  the  bees 
be  wiser  than  men." 

At  the  which  she  smiled ;  but  withal, 
sighing,  made  reply : 

"  One  might  have  wished  of  late 
years  rather  to  be  a  bee  than  such  as 
we  see  men  sometimes  to  be.  But, 
Mistress  Constance,  if  they  are  indeed 
so  wise  and  so  happy, 'tis  that  they 
are  fixed  in  a  condition  in  which  they 
must  needs  do  the  will  of  him  who 
created  them ;  and  the  like  wisdom 
and  happiness  in  a  far  higher  state  we 
may  ourselves  enjoy,  if  we  do  but 
choose  of  our  free  will  to  live  by  the 
same  rule." 

Then,  after  some  further  discourse 
on  the  habits  of  these  little  citizens,  I 
inquired  of  Mistress  Ward  if  she  were 
acquainted  with  mine  aunt,  Mistress 
Congleton ;  at  the  which  question  she 
seemed  surprised,  and  said, 

"Methought,  my  dear,  you  had 
known  my  condition  in  your  aunt's 
family,  having  been  governess  for 
many  years  to  her  three  daughters, 
and  only  by  reason  of  my  sister's 
sickness  having  stayed  away  from 
them  for  some  time." 

At  the  which  intelligence  I  greatly 
rejoiced  ;  for  the  few  hours  we  had  rode 
together,  and  our  discourse  tliat  even- 
ing, had  wrought  in  me  a  liking  for 
this  lady  as  great  as  could  arise  in  so 
short  a  period.     But  I  minded  me  then 


of  my  jests  at  her  fears  anent  robbers, 
and  also  of  having  been  less  dutiful  in 
my  manners  than  I  should  have  been 
toward  one  who  was  like  to  be  set 
over  me ;  and  I  likewise  bethought 
me  this  might  be  the  cause  that  she 
had  spoken  of  the  bees  having  a  rev- 
erence for  their  elders,  and  doubted  if 
I  should  crave  her  pardon  for  my  want 
of  it.  But,  like  many  good  thoughts 
which  we  give  not  entertainment  to  by 
reason  that  they  be  irksome,  I  changed 
that  intent  for  one  which  had  in  it 
more  of  pleasantness,  though  less  of 
virtue.  Kissing  her,  I  said  it  was  the 
best  news  I  had  heard  for  a  long  time 
that  I  should  live  in  the  same  house 
with  her,  and,  as  I  hoped,  under  her 
care  and  good  government.  And  she 
answered,  that  she  was  well  pleased 
with  it  too,  and  would  be  a  good 
friend  to  me  as  long  as  she  lived. 
Then  I  asked  her  touching  my  cousins, 
and  of  their  sundry  looks  and  qualities. 
She  answered,  that  the  eldest,  Kate, 
was  very  fair,  and  said  nothing  further 
concerning  her.  Polly,  she  told  me, 
was  marvellous  witty  and  very  pleas- 
ant, And  could  give  a  quick  answer, 
full  of  entertaining  conceits.  . 

"  And  is  she,  then,  not  fair  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  Neither  fair  nor  foul,"  was  her 
reply ;  "  but  well  favored  enough,  and 
has  an  excellent  head." 

"  Then,"  I  cried,  letting  my  words 
exceed  good  behavior,  "  I  shall  hke 
her  better  than  the  pretty  fool  her  sis- 
ter." For  the  which  speech  I  received 
the  first,  but  not  the  last,  chiding  I  ever 
had  from  Mistress  Ward  for  foohsh 
talking  and  pert  behavior,  which  was 
what  I  very  well  deserved.  When 
she  had  done  speaking,  I  put  my  arm 
round  her  neck — ^for  it  put  me  in  mind 
of  my  mother  to  be  so  gravely  yet  so 
sweetly  corrected — and  said, ''  Forgive 
me,  dear  Mistress  Ward,  for  my  saucy 
words,  and  tell  me  somewhat  I  beseech 
you  touching  my  youngest  cousin,  who 
must  be  nearest  to  mine  own  ago." 

"  She  is  no  pearl  to  hang  at  one's 
car,"  quoth  she,  "yet  so  gifted  with  a 
well-disposed  mind  that  in  her  grace 


Constance  Sherwood, 


43 


seems  almost  to  supersede  nature. 
Muriel  is  deformed  in  body,  and  slow- 
in  speech  ;  but  in  behavior  so  honest, 
in  prayer  so  devout,  so  noble  in  all  her 
dealings,  that  I  never  heard  her  speak 
anything  that  either  concerned  not 
good  instruction  or  godly  mirth." 

"  And  doth  she  not  care  to  be  ugly  ?" 
I  asked. 

"  So  little  doth  she  value  beauty," 
quoth  Mistress  Ward,  "  save  in  the 
admiring  of  it  in  others,  that  I  have 
known  her  to  look  into  a  glass  and 
smiling  cry  out,  '  This  face  wer^  fair  if 
it  were  turned  and  every  feature  the 
opposite  to  what  it  is;'  and  so  jest 
pleasantly  at  her  own  deformities,  and 
would  have  others  do  so  too.  Oh,  she 
is  a  rare  treasure  of  goodness  and 
piety,  and  a  true  comfort  to  her 
friends !" 

With  suchlike  pleasant  discourse 
we  whiled  away  the  time  until  going 
to  rest ;  and  next  day  were  on  horse- 
back betimes  on  our  way  to  Coventry, 
where  we  were  to  lie  that  night  at  the 
house  of  Mr.  Page,  a  Catholic,  albeit 
not  openly,  by  reason  of  the  times. 
This  gentleman  is  for  his  hospitality  so 
much  haunted,  that  no  news  stirs  but 
comes  to  his  ears,  and  no  gentlefolks 
pass  his  door  but  have  a  cheerful  wel- 
come to  his  house ;  and  'tis  said  no 
music  is  so  sweet  to  his  ears  as  deserved 
thanks.  He  vouchsafed  much  favor  to 
us,  and  by  his  merry  speeches  procured 
us  much  entertainment,  provoking  me 
to  laughter  thereby  more  than  I  de- 
sired. He  took  us  to  see  St.  Mary's 
Hall,  which  is  a  building  which  has 
not  its  equal  for  magnificence  in  any 
town  I  have  seen,  no,  not  even  in 
London.  As  we  walked  through  the 
streets  he  showed  us  a  window  in  which 
was  an  inscription,  set  up  in  the  reign 
of  King  Richard  the  Second,  which 
did  run  thus  : 

"  I,  Luriche,  for  the  love  of  thee 
Do  make  Coventry  toll  free." 

And  further  on,  the  figure  of  Peeping 
Tom  of  Coventry,  that  false  knave  I 
was  so  angry  with  when  my  father 
(ah,  me !  how  sharp  and  sudden  was 


the  pain  which  went  through  my  hsarl 
as  I  called  to  mind  the  liours  I  was 
wont  to  sit  on  his  knee  hearkening  to 
the  like  tales)  told  me  the  story  of  the 
Lady  Godiva,  who  won  mercy  for  her 
townsfolk  by  a  ride  which  none  had 
dared  to  take  but  one  so  holy  as  her- 
self. And,  as  I  said  before,  being  then 
in  a  humor  as  prone  to  tears  at  one 
moment  as  laughter  at  another,  I  fell 
to  weeping  for  the  noble  lady  who  had 
been  in  so  sore  a  strait  that  she  must 
needs  have  chosen  between  complying 
with  her  savage  lord's  conditions  or  the 
misery  of  her  poor  clients.  When  Mr. 
Page  noticed  my  tears,  which  flowed 
partly  for  myself  and  partly  for  one 
who  had  been  long  dead,  but  yet  lived 
in  the  hearts  of  these  citizens,  he  sought 
to  cheer  me  by  the  recital  of  tho  lair 
and  rare  pageant  which  doth  take  place 
every  year  in  Coventry,  and  is  of  the 
most  admii;;able  beauty,  and  such  as  is 
not  witnessed  in  any  other  city  in  the 
world.  He  said  I  should  not  weep  if 
I  were  to  see  it,  which  he  very  much 
desired  I  should  ;  and  he  hoped  he 
might  be  then  alive,  and  ride  by  my 
side  in  the  procession  as  my  esquire ; 
at  the  which  I  smiled,  for  the  good 
gentleman  had  a  face  and  figure  such 
as  would  not  grace  a  pageant,  and 
methought  I  might  be  ashamed  some 
years  hence  to  have  him  for  my  knight ; 
and  I  said,  "  Good  Mr.  Page,  be  the 
shutters  closed  on  those  days  as  when 
the  Lady  Godiva  rode  ?"  at  the  which 
he  laughed,  and  answered, 

"  No ;  and  that  for  one  Tom  who 
then  peeped,  there  were  a  thousand 
eyes  to  gaze  on  the  show  as  it  passed." 

"  Then  if  it  please  you,  sir,  when  the 
time  comes,"  I  said,  "  I  would  hke  to 
look  on  and  not  to  ride ;"  and  he  re- 
plied, it  should  be  as  I  pleased ;  and 
with  such  merry  discourse  we  spent 
the  time  till  supper  was  ready.  And 
afterward  that  good  gentleman  slack- 
ened not  his  efibrts  in  entertaining  us  ; 
but  related  so  many  laughable  stories, 
and  took  so  great  notice  of  me,  that  I 
was  moved  to  answer  him  sometimes 
in  a  manner  too  forward  for  my  years. 
He  told  us  of  the  queen's  visit  to  that 


44 


Constance  Sherwood. 


city,  and  that  the  mayor,  \vho  had 
heard  her  grace's  majesty  considered 
poets,  and  herself  wrote  verses,  thouglit 
to  commend  himself  to  her  favor  by 
such  rare  rhymes  as  these,  wherewith 
he  did  greet  her  at  her  entrance  into 
the  town : 

"  We,  the  men  of  Coventry, 
Be  pleased  to  see  your  majesty, 
Good  Lord  I  how  fair  you  be  !" 

at  the  which  her  highness  made  but  an 
instant's  pause,  and  then  straightway 
replied, 

"  It  pleaseth  well  her  majesty 
To  see  the  men  of  Coventry. 
Good  Lord  !  what  fools  you  be  I" 

"  But,"  quoth  Mr.  Page,  "  the  good 
man  was  so  well  pleased  that  the 
Queen  had  answered  his  compliment, 
that  'tis  said  he  has  had  her  majesty's 
speech  framed,  and  hung  up  in  his 
parlor." 

"  Pity  'tis  not  in  the  town-hall,"  I 
cried ;  and  he  laughing  commended 
me  for  sharpness ;  but  Mistress  Ward 
said: 

"  A  sharp  tongue  in  a  woman's  head 
was  always  a  stinghig  weapon  ;  but  in 
a  queen's  she  prayed  God  it  might 
never  prove  a  murtherous  one." 
Which  words  somewhat  checked  our 
merriment,  for  that  they  savored  of 
rebuke  to  me  for  forward  speech,  and 
I  ween  awoke  in  Mr.  Page  thoughts 
of  a  graver  sort. 

When  we  rode  through  the  town 
next  day,  he  went  with  us  for  the  space 
of  some  miles,  and  then  bade  us  fare- 
well with  singular  courtesy,  and  pro- 
fessions of  good  will  and  proffered 
service  if  we  should  do  him  the  good 
at  any  time  to  remember  his  poor 
house;  which  we  told  him  he  had 
given  us  sufficient  reason  not  to  forget. 
Toward  evening,  when  the  sun  was 
setting,  we  did  see  the  towers  of  War- 
wick Castle ;  and  I  would  fain  have 
discerned  the  one  which  doth  bear  the 
name  of  the  great  earl  who  in  a  poor 
pilgrim's  garb  slew  the  giant  Colbrand, 
and  the  cave  'neath  Guy's  Cliff  where 
he  spent  his  last  years  in  prayer. 
But  the  light  was  dechuin!?  as  we  rode 


into  Leamington,  where  we  lay  that 
night,  and  darkness  hid  from  us 
that  fair  country,  which  methought 
was  a  meet  abode  for  such  as  would 
lead  a  hermit's  life. 

The  next  day  we  had  the  longest  ride 
and  the  hottest  sun  avc  had  yet  met 
w^ith ;  and  at  noon  we  halted  to  rest  in 
a  thicket  on   the  roadside,  which  we 
made  our  pavilion,  and  from  which  our 
eyes  did  feast  themselves  on  a  delight- 
ful prospect.     There  were  heights  on 
one  side  garnished  with  stately  oaks, 
and  a  meadow  betwixt  the  road  and 
the   hill   enamelled  with   all   sorts  of 
pleasing  flowers,  and  stored  with  sheep, 
which  were  feeding  in  sober  security. 
Mistress  Ward,  who  was  greatly  tired 
with  the  journey,  fell  asleep  with  her 
head  on  her  hand,  and  I  pulled  from 
my  pocket  a  volume  with  which  Mr. 
Page  had  gifted  me  at   parting,  and 
which  contained   sundry   tales   anent 
Amadis  de  Gaul,  Huon  de  Bordeaux, 
Palmerin   of   England,  and  suchlike 
famous  knights,  which  he  said,  as  I 
knew  how  to  read,  for  which  he  greatly 
commended  my  parents'  care,  I  should 
entertain  myself  with  on  the  road.  So, 
one-half  sitting,  one-half  lying  on  the 
grass,  I  reclined  in  an  easy  posture, 
with   my   head   resting    against    the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  pleasing  my  fancy  with 
the   writers'   conceits;  but   ever   and 
anon  lifting  my  eyes  to  the  blue  sky 
above  ray  head,  seen  through  the  green 
branches,  or  fixed  them  on  the  quaint 
patterns  the  quivering  light  drew  on 
the  grass,  or  else  on  the  valley  refreshed 
with  a  silver  river,  and  the  ftiir  hills 
beyond  it.     And  as  I  read  of  knights 
and  ladies,  and  the  many  perils  Avliich 
befel    them,   and    passages    of    love 
betwixt  them,  which  Avas  new  to  me, 
and  what  I  had  not  met  with  in  any  of 
the  books  I  had  yet  read,  I  fell  into  a 
fit  of  musing,  wondering  if  in  London 
the  folks  I  should  see  would  discourse 
in  the  same  fashion,  and  the  gentle- 
men have  so  much  bravery  and  the 
ladies   so   great  beauty  as   those  my 
book  treated  of.     And  as  I  noticed  it 
was  cliiefly  on  the  high-roads  they  did 
come  into  such  dangerous  adventures, 


Constance  Sherwood* 


45 


I  gazed  as  far  as  I  could  discern  on 
the  one  I  had  in  view  before  me  with 
a  foolish  kind  of  desire  for  some  rob- 
bers to  come  and  assail  us,  and  then  a 
great  nobleman  or  gallant  esquire  to 
ride  up  and  fall  on  them,  and  to  deliver 
us  from  a  great  peril,  and  may  be  to 
be  wounded  in  the  encounter,  and  I  to 
bind  up  those  wounds  as  from  my 
mother's  teaching  I  knew  how  to  do, 
and  then  give  thanks  to  the  noble 
gentleman  in  such  courteous  and  well- 
picked  words  as  I  could  think  of.  But 
Jbr  all  my  gazing  I  could  naught  per- 
ceive save  a  wain  slowly  ascending  the 
hill  loaden  with  com,  midst  clouds  of 
dust,  and  some  poorer  sort  of  people, 
who  had  been  gleaning,  and  were 
carrying  sheaves  on  their  heads.  After 
an  hour  Mistress  Ward  awoke  from 
her  nap  ;  and  methinks  I  had  been 
dozing  also,  for  when  she  called  to  me, 
and  said  it  was  time  to  eat  somewhat, 
and  then  get  to  horse,  I  cried  out, 
"  Good  sir,  I  wait  your  pleasure ;" 
and  rubbed  my  eyes  to  see  her  standing 
before  me  in  her  riding-habit,  and  not 
the  gentleman  whose  wounds  I  had 
been  tending. 

That  night  we  slept  at  Northampton, 
at  Mistress  Engerfield's  house.  She 
was  a  cousin  of  Mr.  Congleton's,  and  a 
lady  whose  sweet  affability  and  gravity 
would  have  extorted  reverence  from 
those  that  least  loved  her.  She  was 
then  very  aged,  and  had  been  a  nun  in 
King  Henry's  reign ;  and,  since  her 
convent  had  been  despoiled,  and  the 
religious  driven  out  of  it,  having  a 
large  fortune  of  her  own,  which  she 
inherited  about  that  time,  she  made 
her  house  a  secret  monastery,  wherein 
God  was  served  in  a  religious  manner 
by  such  persons  as  the  circumstances 
of  the  time,  and  not  their  own  desires, 
had  forced  back  into  the  world,  and 
who  as  yet  had  found  no  commodity 
for  passing  beyond  seas  into  coun- 
tries -where  that  manner  of  life  is  al- 
lowed. They  dressed  in  sober  black, 
and  kept  stated  hours  of  prayer,  and 
went  not  abroad  unless  necessity  com- 
oelled  them  thereunto.  When  we 
went  into  the   dining-room,  which  I 


noticed  Mistress  Engerlield  called  the 
refectory,  grace  was  said  in  Ifatin ;  and 
Whilst  we  did  eat  one  lady  read  out 
loud  out  of  a  book,  which  methinks 
was  the  life  of  a  saint ;  but  the  fatigue 
of  the  journey,  and  the  darkness  of 
the  room,  which  was  wainscotted  with 
oak-wood,  so  overpowered  my  senses 
with  drowsiness,  that  before  the  meal 
was  ended  I  had  fallen  asleep,  which 
was  discovered,  to  my  great  confusion, 
when  the  company  rose  from  table. 
But  that  good  lady,  in  whose  face  was 
so  great  a  kindliness  that  I  nerer  saw 
one  to  be  compared  with  it  in  that  re- 
spect before  or  since,  took  me  by  the 
hand  and  said,  "  Young  eyes  wax 
heavy  for  lack  of  rest,  and  travellers 
should  have  repose.  Come  to  thy 
chamber,  sweet  one,  and,  after  com- 
mending thyself  by  a  brief  prayer  to 
him  who  sleepeth  not  nor  slumbereth, 
and  to  her  who  is  the  Mother  of  the 
motherless,  get  thee  to  bed  and  take 
thy  fill  of  the  sleep  thou  hast  so  great 
need  of,  and  good  angels  will  watch 
near  thee." 

Oh,  how  I  did  weep  then,  partly 
from  fatigue,  and  partly  from  the  dear 
comfort  her  words  did  yield  me,  and, 
kneeling,  asked  her  blessing,  as  I  had 
been  wont  to  do  of  my  dear  parents. 
And  she,  whose  countenance  was  full 
of  majesty,  and  withal  of  most  attrac- 
tive gentleness,  which  made  me  deem 
her  to  be  more  than  an  ordinaiy 
woman,  and  a  great  servant  of  God, 
as  indeed  she  was,  raised  me  from  the 
ground,  and  herself  assisted  to  get  me 
to  bed,  having  first  said  my  prayers  by 
her  side,  whose  inflamed  devotion,  visi- 
ble in  her  face,  awakened  in  me  a 
greater  fervor  than  I  had  hitherto  ex- 
perienced when  performing  tliis  duty. 
After  I  had  slept  heavily  for  the  space 
of  two  or  three  hours  1  awoke,  as  is 
the  wont  of  those  who  be  over-fatigued, 
and  could  not  get  to  sleep  again,  so 
that  I  heard  the  clock  of  a  church 
strike  twelve ;  and  as  the  last  stroke 
fell  on  my  ear,  it  was  followed  by  a 
sound  of  chanting,  as  if  close  unto  my 
chamber,  which  resembled  what  on 
rare  occasions  I  had  heard  performed 


46 


Constance  Sherwood, 


bj  two  or  three  persons  in  our  chapel ; 
but  here,  with  so  full  a  concord  of 
voices,  and  so  great  melody  and 
sweetness,  that  methought,  being  at 
that  time  of  night  and  every  one  abed, 
it  must  be  the  angels  that  were  sing- 
ing. But  the  next  day,  questioning 
Mrs.  Ward  thereupon  as  of  a  strange 
thing  which  had  happened  to  me,  she 
said,  the  ladies  in  that  house  rose  al- 
ways at  midnight,  as  they  had  been 
used  to  do  in  their  several  convents, 
to  sing  God's  praises  and  give  him 
thanks,  which  was  what  they  did  vow 
to  do  when  they  became  religious. 
Before  we  departed.  Mistress  Enger- 
field  took  me  into  her  own  room,  which 
was  small  and  plainly  furnished,  wdth 
no  other  furniture  in  it  but  a  bed,  table, 
and  kneeling-stool,  and  against  the 
wall  a  large  crucifix,  and  she  bestowed 
upon  me  a  small  book  in  French,  titled 
'•  The  Spiritual  Combat,"  which  she 
said  was  a  treasury  of  pious  riches, 
which  she  counselled  me  by  frequent 
study  to  make  my  own  ;  and  with  many 
prayers  and  blessings  she  then  bade 
us  God-speed,  and  took  leave  of  us. 
Our  last  day's  lodging  on  the  road  was 
at  Bedford  ;  and  there  being  no  Cath- 
olics of  note  in  that  town  wont  to  en- 
tertain travellers,  we  halted  at  a  quiet 
hostelry,  which  Avas  kept  by  very  de- 
cent people,  who  showed  us  much 
civility ;  and  the  landlady,  after  we 
had  supped,  the  evening  being  rainy 
(for  else  she  said  wc  might  have 
walked  through  her  means  into  the 
fair  grounds  of  the  Abbey  of  Woburn, 
which  she  thanked  God  was  not  now 
a  hive  for  drones,  as  it  had  once  been, 
but  the  seat  of  a  worthy  nobleman ; 
which  did  more  credit  to  the  town,  and 
drew  customers  to  the  inn),  brought  us 
for  our  entertainment  a  huge  book, 
which  she  said  had  as  much  godliness 
in  each  of  its  pages  as  might  serve  to 
convert  as  many  Papists — God  save 
the  mark! — as  there  were  leaves  in 
the  volume.  My  cheeks  glowed  like 
fire  when  she  thus  spoke,  and  I  looked 
at  Mistress  Ward,  wondering  what  she 
would  say.  But  she  only  bowed  her 
head,  and  made  pretence  to  open  the 


book,  which,  when  the  good  woman 
was  gone, 

"  Mistress  Constance,"  quoth  she, 
"  this  is  a  book  writ  by  Mr.  Fox,  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk's  old  schoolmaster, 
touching  those  he  doth  call  martyrs, 
who  suffered  for  treason  and  for  heresy 
in  the  days  of  Queen  Mary, — God  rest 
her  soul ! — and  if  it  ever  did  convert  a 
Papist,  I  do  not  say  on  his  deathbed, 
but  at  any  time  of  his  life,  except  it 
was  greatly  for  his  own  interest,  I  be 
ready    .    .    ." 

"  To  be  a  martyr  yourself.  Mistress 
Ward,"  I  cried,  with  my  ever  too  great 
proneness  to  let  my  tongue  loose  from 
restraint.  The  color  rose  in  her  cheek, 
which  was  usually  pale,  and  she  said : 

"  Child,  I  was  about  to  say,  that  in 
the  case  I  have  named,  I  be  ready  to 
forego  the  hope  of  that  which  I  thank 
God  I  be  wise  enough  to  desire,  though 
unworthy  to  obtain;  but  for  which  I 
do  pray  each  day  that  I  live." 

"  Then  would  you  not  be  afraid  to 
die  on  a  scaffold,"  I  asked,  '•  or  to  be 
hanged,  Mistress  Ward  ?" 

'•  Not  in  a  good  cause,"  she  said. 

But  before  the  words  were  out  of 
her  mouth  our  landlady  knocked  at 
the  door,  and  said  a  gentleman  was  in 
the  house  with  his  two  sons,  who  asked 
to  pay  their  compliments  to  Mistress 
Ward  and  the  young  lady  under  her 
care.  The  name  of  this  gentleman 
was  Rookwood,  of  Rookwood  Hall  in 
Suffolk,  and  Mistress  Ward  desired 
the  landlady  presently  to  bring  them 
in,  for  she  had  often  met  them  at 
my  aunt's  house,  as  she  afterward 
told  me,  and  had  great  contentment 
we  should  have  such  good  company 
under  the  same  roof  with  us ;  whom 
when  they  came  in  she  very  pleasantly 
received,  and  informed  Mr.  Rookwood 
of  my  name  and  relationship  to  Mis- 
tress Congleton  ;  which  when  he  heard, 
he  asked  if  I  was  Mr.  Henry  Sher- 
wood's daughter ;  which  being  certi- 
fied of,  he  saluted  me,  and  said  my 
father  was  at  one  time,  when  bo!h 
were  at  college,  the  closest  friend  thtit 
ever  he  had,  and  his  esteem  for  him 
was  so  great  that  he  would  be  better 


Goiistance  Sherwood, 


A7 


pleased  with  the  news  that  he  should 
sec  him  but  once  again,  than  if  any 
one  was  to  give  him  a  thousand 
pounds.  I  told  him  my  father  often 
spake  of  him  with  singular  affection, 
and  that  the  letter  I  should  write  to 
him  from  London  would  be  more  wel- 
come than  anything  else  could  make 
it,  by  the  mention  of  the  honor  I  had 
had  of  his  notice.  Mistress  Ward 
then  asked  liim  what  was  the  news  in 
London,  from  whence  he  had  come 
that  morning.  He  answered  that  the 
news  was  not  so  good  as  he  would  wish 
it  to  be ;  for  that  the  queen's  marriage 
with  monsieur  was  broke  off,  and  the 
King  of  France  greatly  incensed  at 
the  favor  M.  de  Montgomeri  had  ex- 
perienced at  her  hands ;  and  that 
when  he  had  demanded  he  should  be 
given  up,  she  had  answered  that  she 
did  not  see  why  she  should  be  the 
King  of  France's  hangman ;  which  was 
what  his  father  had  replied  to  her 
sister,  when  she  had  made  the  like  re- 
quest anent  some  of  her  traitors  who 
had  fled  to  France. 

"  Her  majesty,"  he  said, "  was  greatly 
incensed  against  the  Bishop  of  Ross, 
and  had  determmed  to  put  him  to 
death ;  but  that  she  was  dissuaded 
from  it  by  her  council ;  and  that  he 
prayed  God  CathoUcs  should  not  fare 
worse  now  that  Ridolfi's  plot  had  been 
discovered  to  declare  her  highness  ille- 
gitimate, and  place  the  Queen  of  Scots 
on  the  throne,  which  had  moved  her 
to  greater  anger  than  even  the  rising 
in  the  north. 

"And  touching  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk," Mistress  Ward  did  ask,  "  what 
is  like  to  befal  him  ?" 

Mr.  Rookwood  said,  "His  grace 
had  been  removed  from  the  Tower  to 
his  own  house  on  account  of  the  plague ; 
but  it  is  reported  the  queen  is  more 
urgent  against  him  than  ever,  and  will 
have  his  head  in  the  end." 

"If  her  majesty  will  not  marry 
monsieur,"  Mistress  Ward  said,  '^  it 
will  fare  wo]"sc  with  recusants." 

Upon  which  one  of  the  young  gen- 
tlemen cried  out,  "  'Tis  not  her  majesty 
will  not  have  him ;  but  monsieur  will 


not  have  her.  My  Lord  of  Oxford, 
who  is  to  marry  ray  Lord  Burleigh's 
daughter,  said  yesterday  at  the  tennis 
court,  that  that  matter  of  monsiciu'  is 
grieviously  taken  on  her  grace's  par: : 
but  that  my  lord  is  of  opinion  that  where 
amity  is  go  needful,  her  majcs;y  should 
stomach  it ;  and  so  she  doth  pretend  to 
break  it  off  herself  by  reason  of  her 
religious  scruples." 

At  the  which  both  brothers  did  laugh, 
but  Mr.  Rookwood  bade  them  have  a 
care  how  they  did  suffer  their  tongues 
to  wag  anent  her  grace  and  such  mat- 
ters as  her  grace's  marriage ;  which 
although  in  the  present  company  might 
be  without  danger,  was  an  ill  habit, 
which  in  these  times  was  like  to  bring 
divers  persons  into  troubles. 

"  Hang  it !"  cried  the  eldest  of  his 
sons,  who  was  of  a  well-pleasing  favor 
and  exceeding  goodly  figure  ;  "  recus- 
ants be  always  in  trouble,  whatsoever 
they  do ;  both  taxed  for  silence  and 
checked  for  speech,  as  the  play  hath 
it.  For  good  Mr.  Weston  was  racked 
for  silence  last  vfack  till  he  fainted,  {ov 
that  he  would  not  reveal  what  he  had 
heard  in  confession  from  one  concerned 
in  Ridolfi's  plot ;  and  as  to  my  Lord 
Morley,  he  haih  been  examined  before 
the  council,  touching  his  having  said 
he  would  go  abroad  poorly  and  would 
return  in  glory,  whic-k  he  did  speak 
concerning  his  health;  but  they  would 
have  it  meant  treason." 

"  Methinks,  Master  Basil,"  said  his 
father,  "  thou  art  not  like  to  be  taxed 
for  silence ;  unless  indeed  on  the  rack, 
which  the  freedom  of  thy  speech  may 
yet  bring  thee  to,  an  thou  hast  not 
more  care  of  thy  words.  See  now,  thy 
brother  keeps  his  lips  closed  in  modest 
silence." 

"  Ay,  as  if  butter  would  not  melt  in 
liis  mouth,"  cried  Basil,  laughing. 

And  I  then  noticed  the  countenance 
of  the  younger  brother,  who  was  fairer 
and  shorter  by  a  head  than  Basil,  and 
had  the  most  beautiful  eyes  imaginable, 
and  a  high  forehead  betokening  thought- 
fulness.  Mr.  Rookwood  drew  his  chair 
further  from  the  table,  and  conversed 
in  a  low  voice  with  Mrs.  Ward,  touch- 


+8 


Constance  Sherwood* 


ing  matters  which  I  ween  were  of  too 
great  import  to  be  lightly  treated  of. 
I  heard  the  name  of  Mr.  Felton  men- 
tioned in  their  discourse,  and  some- 
what about  the  Pope's  Bull,  in  the 
affixing  of  which  at  the  Bishop  of  Lon- 
don's gate  he  had  lent  a  hand ;  but  my 
ears  were  not  free  to  listen  to  them, 
for  the  young  gentlemen  began  to  en- 
tertain me  with  divers  accounts  of  the 
shows  in  London  ;  which,  as  they  were 
some  years  older  than  myself,  who  was 
then  no  better  than  a  child,  though  tall 
of  mine  age,  I  took  as  a  great  favor, 
and  answered  them  in  the  best  v/ay  I 
could.  Basil  spoke  mostly  of  the 
sights  he  had  seen,  and  a  fight  be- 
tween a  lion  and  three  dogs,  in  which 
the  dogs  were  victorious ;  and  Hubert 
of  books,  V,  hich  lie  said,  for  his  part, 
he  had  alwayG  a  care  to  keep  hand- 
some and  well  bound. 

"x\.y,"  quoth  his  brother,  "gilding 
them  and  stringing  them  like  the  pray- 
(T-books  of  girls  and  gallants,  which 
are  carried  to  church  but  for  their  out- 
isides.  I  do  hate  a  book  with  clasps, 
'tis  a  trouble  to  open  them." 

"'  A  trouble  thou  dost  seldom  take," 
quoth  Hubert.  "  Thou  art  ready 
enough  to  unclasp  the  book  of  thy 
inward  soul  to  whosoever  will  read  in 
it,  and  thy  purse  to  whosoever  begs  or 
borrows  of  thee ;  but  with  such  clasps 
as  shut  in  the  various  stores  of  thought 
which  have  issued  forth  from  men's 
minds  thou  dost  not  often  meddle." 

*'  Beshrew  me  if  I  do !  The  best 
prayer-book  I  take  to  be  a  pair  of 
beads ;  and  the  most  entertaining  read- 
ing, the  '  Rules  for  the  Hunting  of 
Deer ;'  which,  by  what  I  have  heard 
from  Sir  Roger  Ashton,  my  Lord  Staf- 
ford hath  grievously  transgressed  by 
assaulting  Lord  Lyttleton's  keepers  in 
Teddesley  Haye." 

"  What  have  you  here  ?"  Hubert 
asked,  glancing  at  Mr.  Fox's  Book  of 
Martyrs,  and  another  which  the  land- 
lady had  left  on  the  table ;  A  profit- 
able New   Tears  Gift  to  all  JUiicjland. 

"  They  are  not  mine,"  I  answered, 
*'  nor  such  as  I  do  care  to  read ;  but 
tliis,"  I  said,  holding  out  Mr.  Page's 


gift,  which  I  had  in  my  pocket,  "  is  a 
rare  fund  of  entertainment  and  very 
full  of  pleasant  tales." 

"  But,"  quoth  he,  "  you  should  read 
the  Morie  d'Arthur  and  the  Seveii 
Champions  of  Ghrisieiidom.^' 

Which  I  said  I  should  be  glad  to 
do  when  I  had  the  good  chance  to 
meet  with  them.  He  said, "  My  cousin 
Polly  had  a  store  of  such  pleasant  vol- 
umes, and  would,  no  doubt,  lend  them 
to  me.  She  has  such  a  sharp  wit,"  he 
added,  "  that  she  is  ever  exercising  it 
on  herself  or  on  others  ;  on  herself  by 
the  bettering  of  her  mind  through 
reading ;  and  on  others  by  such  ap- 
plications of  what  she  thus  acquires  as 
leaves  them  no  chance  in  discoursing 
with  her  but  to  yield  to  lier  superior 
knowledge." 

"  Methlnks,"  I  said,  "  if  that  be  her 
aim  in  reading,  may  bo  she  will  noi; 
lend  to  others  the  means  of  sharpening 
their  wits  to  encounter  hers." 

At  the  which  both  of  Ihcm  laughed, 
and  Basil  said  he  hoped  I  might  prove 
a  match  for  Mistress  Polly,  who  car- 
ried herself  too  high,  and  despised  such 
as  were  slower  of  speech  and  less  witty 
than  herself.  "  For  my  part,"  he  cried, 
"  I  am  of  opinion  that  too  much  read- 
ing doth  lead  to  too  much  thinking, 
and  too  much  thinking  doth  consume 
the  spirits ;  and  often  it  falls  out  that 
Avhile  one  thinks  too  much  of  his  doing, 
he  leaves  to  do  the  effect  of  his  think- 
ing." 

At  the  which  Hubert  smiled,  and  I 
bethought  myself  that  if  Basil  was  no 
book-worm  neither  was  he  a  fool. 
With  such  like  discourse  the  evening 
sped  away,  and  Mr.  Rookwood  and 
his  sons  took  their  leave  with  many 
civilities  and  pleasant  speeches,  such 
as  gentlemen  arc  wont  to  address  to 
ladies,  and  hopes  expressed  to  meet 
again  in  London,  and  good  wishes  for 
the  safe  ending  of  our  journey  thither. 

Ah,  me  !  'tis  passing  strange  to  si 
here  and  write  in  this  little  chamber, 
after  so  many  years,  of  that  first  meet- 
ing with  those  brothers,  Basil  and 
Hubert ;  to  call  to  mind  how  they  did 
look  and  speak,  and  of  the  pretty  kind 


Constance  Siverwood, 


49 


of  natural  affection  there  was  betwixt 
them  in  their  manner  to  each  other. 
Ah,  me!  the  old  trick  of  sighing  is 
coming  over  me  again,  which  I  had 
well-nigh  corrected  myself  of,  who  have 
more  reason  to  give  thanks  than  to 
complain.  Good  Lord,  what  fools  you 
be  !  sighing  heart  and  watering  eyes ! 
As  great  Ibols,  I  ween,  as  the  Mayor 
of  Coventry,  whose  foolish  rhymes  do 
keep  running  in  my  head. 

The  day  following  we  came  to  Lon- 
don, which  being,  as  it  were,  the  be- 
ginning of  a  new  life  to  me,  I  will 
defer  to  speak  of  until  I  find  myself, 
after  a  night's  rest  and  special  prayers 
unto  that  end,  less  heavy  of  heart  than 
at  present. 


<  CHAPTER   VII. 

Upon  a  sultry  evening  which  did 
follow  an  exceeding  hot  day,  with  no 
clouds  in  the  sky,  and  a  great  store  of 
dust  on  the  road,  we  entered  London, 
that  great  fair  of  the  whole  world,  as 
some  have  titled  it.  When  for  many 
years  we  do  think  of  a  place  we  have 
not  seen,  a  picture  forms  itself  in  the 
mind  as  distinct  as  if  the  eye  had  taken 
cognizance  thereof,  and  a  singular  cu- 
riosity attends  the  actual  vision  of  what 
tiie  imagination  hath  so  oft  portrayed. 
On  this  occasion  my  eyes  were  slow 
servants  to  my  desires,  which  longed 
to  embrace  in  the  compass  of  one 
glance  the  various  objects  they  craved 
to  behold.  Albeit  the  sky  was  cloud- 
less above  our  heads,  I  feared  it  would 
rain  in  London,  by  reason  of  a  dark 
vapor  which  did  hang  over  it;  but 
Mistress  Ward  informed  me  that  this 
appearance  was  owing  to  the  smoke  of 
sea-coal,  of  which  so  great  a  store  is 
used  in  the  houses  that  the  air  is  filled 
with  it.  "And  do  those  in  London 
always  live  in  that  smoke  ?"  I  inquired, 
not  greatly  contented  to  think  it  should 
be  so;  but  she  said  Mr.  Congleton's 
liouse  w^as  not  in  the  city,  but  in  a  very 
pleasant  suburb  outside  of  it,  close  unto 
Holborn  Hill  and  Ely  Place,  the  bish- 


op's palace,  in  whose  garden  the  roses 
were  so  plentiful  that  in  June  the  air 
is  perfumed  with  their  odor.  I  troubled 
her  not  with  further  questions  at  that 
time,  being  soon  wholly  taken  up  with 
the  new  sights  which  then  did  meet  us 
at  every  step.  So  great  a  number  of 
gay  horsemen,  and  litters  carried  by 
footmen  with  fine  liveries,  and  coaches 
drawn  by  horses  richly  caparisoned  and 
men  running  alongside  of  them,  and 
withal  so  many  carts,  that  I  was  con- 
strained to  give  over  the  guiding  of 
mine  own  horse  by  reason  of  the  con- 
fusion which  the  noise  of  wheels  and 
men's  cries  and  the  rapid  motion  of  so 
many  vehicles  did  cause  in  me,  who 
had  never  rode  before  in  so  great  a 
crowd. 

At  about  six  o'clock  of  the  afternoon 
we  did  reach  Ely  Place,  and  passing 
by  the  bishop's  palace  stopped  at  the 
gate  of  Mr.  Congleton's  house,  which 
doth  stand  somewhat  retired  from  the 
high-road,  and  the  first  sight  of  which 
did  greatly  content  me.  It  is  built  of 
fair  and  strong  stone,  not  affecting  fine- 
ness, but  honorably  representing  a  fiiTu 
stateliness,  for  it  was  handsome  with- 
out curiosity,  and  homely  without  neg- 
ligence. At  the  front  of  it  was  a  well- 
arranged  ground  cunningly  set  with 
trees,  through  which  wc  rode  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  where  we  were  met 
by  a  gentleman  dressed  in  a  coat  of 
black  satin  and  a  quilted  waistcoat, 
with  a  white  beaver  in  his  hand,  whom 
I  guessed  to  be  my  good  uncle.  He 
shook  Mistress  Ward  by  the  hand, 
saluted  me  on  both  cheeks,  and  vowed 
I  was  the  precise  counterpart  of  my 
mother,  who  at  my  age,  he  said,  was 
the  prettiest  Lancashire  witch  that 
ever  he  had  looked  upon.  He  seemed 
to  me  not  so  old  as  I  did  suppose  him  > 
to  be,  lean  of  body  and  something  low 
of  stature,  with  a  long  visage  and  a  . 
little  sharp  beard  upon  the  chin  of  a 
brown  color ;  a  countenance  not  very 
grave,  and,  for  his  age,  wanting  the  • 
authority  of  gray  hairs.  He  conducted  ( 
me  to  mine  aunt's  chamber,  who  was 
seated  in  an  easy-chair  near  unto  the 
window,  with  a  cat  upon  her  knees  and.; 


50 


Constance  Sherwood. 


a  tambour-frame  before  her.  She  oped 
her  arms  and  kissed  me  with  great 
affection,  and  I,  sliding  down,  knelt  at 
her  feet  and  prayed  her  to  be  a  good 
mother  to  me,  which  was  what  my 
father  had  charged  me  to  do  when  I 
should  come  into  her  presence.  She 
raised  me  with  her  hand  and  made  me  sit 
on  a  stool  beside  her,  and  stroking  my 
face  gently,  gazed  upon  it,  and  said  it 
put  her  in  mind  of  both  of  my  parents, 
for  that  I  had  my  father's  brow  and 
•  eyes,  and  my  mother's  mouth  and 
dimpling  smiles. 

"Mr.  Congleton,"  she  cried,  "you 
do  hear  what  this  wench  saith.  I  pray 
you  to  bear  it  in  mind,  and  how  near 
in  blood  she  is  to  me,  so  that  you  may 
show  her  favor  when  I  am  gone,  which 
may  be  sooner  than  you  think  for." 

I  looked  up  into  her  face  greatly 
concerned  that  she  was  like  so  soon  to 
die.  Methought  she  had  the  semblance 
of  one  in  good  health  and  a  reasonable 
good  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  I  per- 
ceived Mr.  Congleton  did  smile  as  he 
answered : 

"I  will  show  favor  to  thy  pretty 
niece,  good  Moll,  I  promise  thee,  be 
thou  alive  or  be  thou  dead ;  but  if  the 
leeches  arc  to  be  credited,  who  do 
affh-m  thou  hast  the  best  strength  and 
stomach  of  the  twain,  thou  art  more 
like  to  bury  me  than  I  thee." 

Upon  which  the  good  lady  did  sigh 
deeply  and  cast  up  her  eyes  and  lifted 
up  her  hands  as  one  grievously  injured, 
and  he  cried : 

"  Prithee,  sweetheart,  take  it  not 
amiss,  for  beshrew  me  if  I  be  not 
willing  to  grant  thee  to  be  as  diseased 
as  will  pleasure  thee,  so  that  thou  wilt 
continue  to  eat  and  sleep  as  well  as 
thou  dost  at  the  present  and  so  keep 
thyself  from  dying." 

Upon  which  she  said  that  she  did 
admire  how  a  man  could  have  so  much 
cruelty  as  to  jest  and  jeer  at  her  ill- 
health,  but  that  she  would  spend  no 
more  of  her  breath  upon  him;  and 
turning  toward  me  she  asked  a  store 
of  questions  anent  my  father,  whom 
for  many  years  she  had  not  seen,  and 
touching  the  manner  of  my  mother's 


death,  at  the  mention  of  which  my 
tears  flowed  afresh,  wliich  caused  her 
also  to  weep  ;  and  calling  for  her  wo- 
men she  bade  one  of  them  bring  her 
some  hartshorn,  for  that  sorrow,  she 
said,  would  occasion  the  vapors  to  rise 
in  her  head,  and  the  other  she  sent  for 
to  fetch  her  case  of  trinkets,  for  that 
she  would  wear  the  ring  her  brother 
had  presented  her  with  some  years 
back,  in  which  was  a  stone  Avhich  doth 
cure  melancholy.  When  the  case  was 
brought  she  displayed  before  my  eyes 
its  rich  contents,  and  gifted  me  with  a 
brooch  set  with  turquoises,  the  wearing 
of  which,  she  said,  doth  often  keep  per- 
sons from  falling  into  divers  sorts  of 
peril.  Then  presently  kissing  me  she 
said  she  felt  fatigued,  and  would  send 
for  her  daughters  to  take  charge  of  me; 
who,  when  they  came,  embraced  me 
with  exceeding  great  affection,  and 
carried  me  to  what  had  been  their 
schoolroom  and  was  now  Mrs.  Ward's 
chamber,  who  no  longer  was  their 
governess,  they  said,  but  as  a  friend 
abode  in  the  house  for  to  go  abroad 
with  them,  their  mother  being  of  so 
delicate  a  constitution  that  she  seldom 
left  her  room.  Next  to  this  chamber 
was  a  closet,  wherein  Kate  said  I 
should  lie,  and  as  it  is  one  I  inhabited 
for  a  long  space  of  time,  and  the  re- 
membrance of  which  doth  connect  it- 
self with  very  many  events  v/hich,  as 
they  did  take  place,  I  therein  mused 
on,  and  prayed  or  wept,  or  sometimes 
laughed  over  in  solitude,  I  will  here 
set  down  what  it  was  like  when  first  I 
saw  it. 

The  bed  was  in  an  alcove,  closed  in 
the  day  by  fair  curtains  of  taffety; 
and  the  walls,  which  were  in  wood,  had 
carvings  above  the  door  and  over  tha 
chimney  of  very  dainty  workmanship. 
The  floor  was  strewn  with  dried  neatly- 
cut  rushes,  and  in  the  projecting  space 
where  the  window  was,  a  table  wns  set, 
and  two  chairs  with  backs  and  seats 
cunningly  furnished  with  tapestiy.  In 
another  recess  betwixt  the  alcove  and 
the  chimney  stood  a  pi-aying  stool  and 
a  desk  with  a  cushion  for  a  book  to  lie 
on.     Ah,  me  !  how  often  has  my  head 


Constance  Sherwood. 


51 


rested  on  that  cushion  and  my  knees 
on  that  stool  when  my  heart  has  been 
too  full  to  utter  other  prayers  than  a 
"  God  ha'  mercy  on  me !"  which  at 
such  times  broke  as  a  cry  from  an 
overcharged  breast.  But,  oh  !  what  a 
vain  pleasure  I  did  take  on  that  first 
day  in  the  bravery  of  this  little  cham- 
ber, which  Kate  said  was  to  be  mine 
own !  With  what  great  contentment  I 
viewed  each  part  of  it,  and  looked  out 
of  the  window  on  the  beds  of  flowers 
which  did  form  a  mosaical  floor  in  the 
garden  around  the  house,  in  the  midst 
of  which  was  a  fair  pond  whose  shaking 
crystal  mirrored  the  shrubs  which  grew 
about  it,  and  a  thicket  beyond,  which 
did  appear  to  me  a  place  for  pleasant- 
ness and  not  unfit  to  flatter  solitariness, 
albeit  so  close  unto  the  city.  Beyond 
were,  the  bishop's  grounds,  and  I  could 
smell  the  scent  of  roses  coming  thence 
as  the  wind  blew.  I  could  have  stood 
there  many  hours  gazing  on  this  new 
scene,  but  that  my  cousins  brought  me 
down  to  sup  with  them  in  the  garden, 
which  was  not  fairer  in  natural  orna- 
ments than  in  artificial  inventions.  The 
table  was  set  in  a  small  banqueting- 
house  among  certain  pleasant  trees 
near  to  a  pretty  water-work  ;  and  now 
I  had  leisure  to  scan  my  cousins'  faces 
and  compare  what  I  did  notice  in  them 
with  what  Mistress  Ward  had  said  the 
first  night  of  our  journey. 

Kate,  the  eldest  of  the  three,  was  in 
sooth  a  very  fair  creature,  proportioned 
without  any  fault,  and  by  nature  en- 
dowed with  the  most  delightful  colors  ; 
but  there  was  a  made  countenance 
about  her  mouth,  between  simpering 
and  smiling,  and  somewhat  in  her 
bowed-down  head  which  seemed  to 
languish  Avith  over-much  idleness,  and 
an  inviting  look  in  her  eyes  as  if  they 
would  over-persuade  those  she  spoke  to, 
which  betokened  a  lack  of  those  nobler 
powers  of  the  mind  which  are  the 
highest  gifts  of  womanhood.  Polly's 
face  fault-finding  wits  might  scoff"  at  as 
too  little  for  the  rest  of  the  body,  her 
features  as  not  so  well  proportioned  as 
Kate's,  and  her  skin  somewhat  browner 
than  doth  consist  with  beauty ;  but  in 


her  eyes  there  was  a  cheerfuhiess  as 
if  nature  smiled  in  them,  in  her  mouth 
so  pretty  a  demureness,  and  in  her 
countenance  such  a  spark  of  wit  that, 
if  it  struck  not  with  admiration,  filled 
with  delight.  No  indifferent  soul  there 
was  which,  if  it  resisted  making  her  its 
princess,  would  not  long  to  have  such 
a  playfellow.  Muriel,  the  youngest  of 
these  sisters,  was  deformed  in  shape, 
sallow  in  hue,  in  speech,  as  Mistress 
Ward  had  said,  slow;  but  ^vithal  in 
her  eyes,  which  were  deep-set,  there 
was  lacking  neither  the  fire  which  be- 
tokens intelHgence,  nor  the  sweetness 
which  commands  aff*ection,  and  some- 
what in  her  plain  face  which,  though 
it  may  not  be  called  beauty,  had  some 
of  its  qualities.  Methought  it  savored 
more  of  heaven  than  earth.  The  ill- 
shaped  body  seemed  but  a  case  for  a 
soul  the  fairness  of  which  did  shine 
through  the  foul  lineaments  which  en- 
closed it.  Albeit  her  lips  opened  but 
seldom  that  evening,  only  twice  or 
thrice,  and  they  were  common  words 
she  uttered  and  fraught  with  hesitation, 
my  heart  did  more  incline  toward  her 
than  to  the  pretty  Kate  or  the  lively 
Polly. 

An  hour  before  Ave  retired  to  rest, 
Mr.  Congleton  came  into  the  garden, 
and  brought  with  him  Mr.  Swithin 
Wells  and  Mr.  Bryan  Lacy,  two  gen- 
tlemen who  lived  also  in  Plolborn ;  the 
latter  of  which,  Polly  whispered  in  mine 
ear,  was  her  sister  Kate's  suitor.  Talk 
was  ministered  among  them  touch- 
ing the  queen's  marriage  with  Mon- 
sieur ;  which,  as  Mr.  Rookwood  had 
said,  was  broken  off;  but  that  day  they 
had  heard  that  M.  de  la  Motte  had 
proposed  to  her  majesty  the  Due 
d'Alen9on,  who  would  be  more  com- 
plying, he  promised,  touching  reHgion 
than  his  brother.  She  inquired  of  the 
prince's  age,  and  of  his  height ;  to  the 
which  he  did  answer,  "About  your 
majesty's  own  height."  But  her  high- 
ness would  not  be  so  put  off,  and  willed 
the  ambassador  to  write  for  the  precise 
measurement  of  the  prince's  stature. 

"  She  will  never  marry,"  quoth  Mr. 
Wells,  ^'but  only  amuse  the  French 


52 


Constance  Sherwood. 


court  and  her  council  with  further 
negotiations  touching  this  new  suitor, 
as  heretofore  anent  the  archduke  and 
Monsieur.  But  I  would  to  God  her 
majesty  were  well  married,  and  to  a 
Catholic  prince ;  which  would  do  us 
more  good  than  anything  else  which 
can  be  thought  of." 

"  What  news  did  you  hear,  sir,  of 
Mr.  Felton  ?"  Mistress  Ward  asked. 
Upon  which  their  countenances  fell; 
and  one  of  them  answered  that  that 
gentleman  had  been  racked  the  day  be- 
fore, but  steadily  refused,  though  in 
the  extremity  of  torture,  to  name  his 
accomplices ;  and  would  give  her 
majesty  no  title  but  that  of  the  Pre- 
tender; which  they  said  was  greatly 
to  be  regretted,  and  what  no  other 
Catholic  had  done.  But  when  his 
sentence  was  read  to  him,  for  that  he 
was  to  die  on  Friday,  he  drew  from 
his  finger  a  ring,  which  had  diamonds 
in  it,  and  was  worth  four  hundred 
pounds,  and  requested  the  Earl  of 
Sussex  to  give  it  to  the  queen,  in 
token  that  he  bore  her  no  ill-will  or 
malice,  but  rather  the  contrary. 

Mr.  Wells  said  he  was  a  gentleman 
of  very  great  heart  and  noble  disposi- 
tion, but  for  his  part  he  would  as  lief 
this  ring  had  been  sold,  and  the  money 
bestowed  on  the  poorer  sort  of  prison- 
ers in  Newgate,  than  see  it  grace  her 
majesty's  finger ;  .who  would  thus  play 
the  hangman's  part,  who  inherits  the 
spoils  of  such  as  he  doth  put  to  death. 
But  the  others  affirmed  it  was  done  in 
a  Christian  manner,  and  so  greatly  to 
be  commended ;  and  that  Mr.  Felton, 
albeit  he  was  somewhat  rash  in  his 
actions,  and  by  some  titled  Don  Mag- 
nifico,  by  reason  of  a  certain  bravery 
in  his  style  of  dress  and  fashion  of 
speaking,  which  smacked  of  Monsieur 
Traveller,  was  a  right  worthy  gentle- 
man, and  his  death  a  blow  to  his 
friends,  amongst  whom  there  were 
some,  nevertheless,  to  be  found  who 
did  blame  him  for  the  act  which  had 
brought  him  into  trouble.  Mistress 
Ward  cried,  that  such  as  fell  into 
trouble,  be  the  cause  ever  so  good,  did 
always  find  those  who  would  blame 


them.  Mr.  Lacy  said,  one  should  not 
cast  himself  into  danger  wilfully,  but 
when  occasion  offered  take  it  with  pa- 
tience. Polly  replied,  that  some  were 
so  prudent,  occasions  never  came  to 
them.  And  then  those  two  fell  to  dis- 
puting, in  a  merry  but  withal  sharp 
fashion.  As  he  did  pick  his  words, 
and  used  new-fangled  terms,  and  she 
spoke  roundly  and  to  the  point,  me- 
thinks  she  was  the  nimblest  in  this 
encounter  of  wit. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Wells  asked  Mr. 
Congleton  if  he  had  had  news  from 
the  north,  where  much  blood  was  spilt 
since  the  rising ;  and  he  apprehended 
that  his  kinsmen  in  Richmondshire 
should  suffer  under  the  last  orders  sent 
to  Sir  George  Bowes  by  my  Lord 
Sussex.  But  Mr.  Congleton  did  min- 
ister to  him  this  comfort,  that  if  they 
were  noted  wealthy,  and  had  freeholds, 
it  was  the  queen's  special  command- 
ment they  should  not  be  executed,  but 
two  hundred  of  the  commoner  sort  to 
lose  their  lives  in  each  town  ;  which 
was  about  one  to  each  five. 

"  But  none  of  note  ?"  quoth  Mr. 
Wells. 

"  None  which  can  pay  the  worth  of 
their  heads,"  Mr.  Congleton  replied. 

'•  And  who,  then,  doth  price  them  ?" 
asked  Kate,  in  a  languishing  voice. 

"  Nay,  sister,"  quoth  Polly,  "  I  war- 
rant thee  they  do  price  themselves  ;  for 
he  that  will  not  pay  well  lor  his  head 
must  needs  opine  he  hath  a  worthless 
one." 

Upon  which  Mr.  Lacy  said  to  Kate, 
*'One  hundred  angels  would  not  pay 
for  thine,  sweet  Kate." 

"  Then  she  must  needs  be  an  arch- 
angel, sir,"  quoth  Polly,  "  if  she  be  of 
greater  worth  than  one  hundred  an- 
gels." 

"  Ah,  me  !"  cried  Kate,  very  earn- 
estly, "I  would  I  had  but  half  one 
hundred  gold-pieces  to  buy  me  a  gown 
with!" 

"  Hast  thou  not  gowns  enough, 
wench  ?"  apkcd  her  father.  "  Me- 
thought  thou  wert  indifferently  well 
provided  in  that  respect." 

"  Ah,  but  I  would  have,  sir,  such  a 


Constance  Sherwood, 


53 


velvet  suit  as  I  did  see  some  weeks 
back  at  the  Italian  house  in  Cheapside, 
where  the  ladies  of  the  court  do  buy 
their  vestures.  It  had  a  border  the 
daintiest  I  ever  beheld,  all  powdered 
with  gold  and  pearls.  Ruffiano  said  it 
was  the  rarest  suit  he  had  ever  made  ; 
and  he  is  the  Queen  of  France's  tailor, 
which  Sir  Nicholas  Throgmorton  did 
secretly  entice  away,  by  the  queen's 
desire,  from  that  court  to  her  own." 

"Ajid  what  fair  nymph  owns  this 
rare  suit,  sweetest  Kate?"  Mr.  Lacy 
asked.  "  I'll  warrant  none  so  fair  that 
it  should  become  her,  or  rather  that 
she  should  become  it,  more  than  her 
who  doth  covet  it." 

"  I  know  not  if  she  be  fair  or  foul," 
quoth  Kate,  "but  she  is  the  Lady 
Mary  Howard,  one  of  the  maids  of 
honor  of  her  majesty,  and  so  may  wear 
what  please  th  her." 

*'By  that  token  of  the  gold  and 
pearl's,"  c»ied  Mr.  Wells,  "  I  doubt  not 
but  'tis  the  very  suit  anent  which  the 
court  have  been  wagging  their  tongues 
for  the  last  week ;  and  if  it  be  so,  indeed. 
Mistress  Kate,  you  have  no  need  to 
envy  the  poor  lady  that  doth  own  it." 

Kate  protested  she  had  not  envied 
her,  and  taxed  Mr.  Wells  with  unkind- 
ness  that  he  did  charge  her  with  it ; 
and  for  all  he  could  say  would  not  be 
pacified,  but  kept  casting  up  her  eyes, 
and  the  tears  streaming  down  her 
lovely  cheeks.  Upon  which  Mi'.  Lacy 
cried: 

"  Sweet  one,  thou  hast  indeed  no 
cause  to  envy  her  or  any  one  else, 
liowsoever  rare  or  dainty  their  suits 
may  be ;  for  thy  teeth  are  more  beau- 
teous than  pearls,  and  thine  hair  more 
bright  than  the  purest  gold,  and  thine 
eyes  more  black  and  soft  than  the  finest 
velvet,  which  nature  so  made  that  we 
might  bear  their  wonderful  shining, 
which  else  had  dazzled  us:"  and  so 
went  on  till  her  weeping  was  stayed, 
and  then  Mr.  Wells  said : 

"  The  lady  who  owned  that  rich 
suit,  which  I  did  falsely  and  felo- 
niously advance  Mistress  Kate  did 
envy,  had  not  great  or  long  com- 
fort in  its  possession;  for  it  is  very 


well  known  at  court,  and  hence  bruited 
in  the  city,  what  passed  at  Richmond 
last  week  concernmg  this  rare  vesture. 
It  pleased  not  the  queen,  who  thought 
it  did  exceed  her  own.  And  one  day 
her  majesty  did  send  privately  for  it, 
and  put  it  on  herself,  and  came  forth 
into  the  chamber  among  the  ladies. 
The  kirtle  and  border  was  far  too 
short  for  her  majesty's  height,  and  she 
asked  every  one  how  they  liked  her 
new  fancied  suit.  At  length  she  asked 
the  owner  herself  if  it  was  not  made 
too  short  and  ill-becoming ;  which  the 
poor  lady  did  presently  consent  to. 
Upon  which  her  highness  cried : '  Why, 
then,  if  it  become  me  not  as  being  too 
short,  I  am  minded  it  shall  never  be- 
come thee  as  being  too  fine,  so  it  fitteth 
neither  well.'  This  sharp  rebuke  so 
abashed  the  poor  lady  that  she  never 
adorned  her  herewith  any  more." 

"  Ah,"  cried  Mr.  Congleton,  laugh- 
ing, "her  majesty's  bishops  do  come 
by  reproofs  as  well  as  her  maids. 
Have  you  heard  how  one  Sunday,  last 
April,  my  Lord  of  London  preached 
to  the  queen's  majesty,  and  seemed  to 
touch  on  the  vanity  of  decking  the 
body  too  finely.  Her  grace  told  the 
ladies  after  the  sermon,  that  if  the 
bishop  held  more  discourse  on  such 
matters  she  would  fit  him  for  heaven, 
but  he  should  walk  thither  without  a 
staff  and  leave  his  mantle  behind  him." 

"Nay,"  quoth  Mr.  Wells,  "but  if 
she  makes  such  as  be  Catholics  taste 
of  the  sharpness  of  the  rack,  and  the 
edge  of  the  axe,  she  doth  then  treat 
those  of  her  own  way  of  thinking  with 
the  edge  of  her  wit  and  the  sharpness 
of  her  tongue.  'Tis  reported,  Mr. 
Congleton,  I  know  not  with  what  truth, 
that  a  near  neighbor  of  yours  has  been 
served  with  a  letter,  by  which  a  new 
sheep  is  let  into  his  pastures." 

"What,"  cried  Polly,  "is  Pecora 
Campi  to  roam  amidst  the  roses,  and 
go  in  and  out  at  his  pleasure  through 
the  bishop's  gate?  The  'sweet  lids' 
have  then  danced  away  a  large  slice 
of  the  Church's  acres.  But  what,  I 
pray  you,  sir,  did  her  majesty  write  ?" 

"  Even  this,"  quoth  her  father,  "  I 


54 


Constance  Sherwood, 


liad  it  from  Sir  Robert  Arundell : 
'  Proud  Prelate !  you  know  what  you 
were  before  I  made  you,  and  what  you 
are  now.  If  you  do  not  immediate- 
ly comply  with  my  request,  I  will  un- 
frock you,  by  God ! — Elizabeth  R.'  " 

"  Our  good  neighbor,"  saith  Polly, 
"  must  show  a  like  patience  with  Job, 
and  cry  out  touching  his  bishopric, 
^  The  queen  did  give  it ;  the  queen 
doth  take  it  away;  the  will  of  the 
queen  be  done/  " 

"  He  is  like  to  be  encroached  upon 
yet  further  by  yon  cunning  Sir  Chris- 
topher," Mr.  Wells  said ;  "  I'll  war- 
rant Ely  Place  will  soon  be  Hatton 
Garden." 

"Well,  for  a  neighbor,"  answered 
Polly,  "  I'd  as  soon  have  the  queen's 
lids  as  her  hedge-bishop,  and  her 
sheep  as  her  shepherd.  'Tis  not  all 
for  love  of  her  sweet  dancer  her  ma- 
jesty doth  despoil  him.  She  never, 
'tis  said,  hath  forgiven  him  that  he  did 
remonstrate  wich  her  for  keeping  a 
crucifix  and  lighted  tapers  in  her  own 
chapel,  and  that  her  fool,  set  on  by 
such  as  were  of  the  same  mind  with 
liim,  did  one  day  put  them  out." 

In  suchhke  talk  the  time  was  spent; 
and  Avhen  the  gentlemen  had  taken 
leave,  we  retired  to  rest;  and  being 
greatly  tired,  I  slept  heavily,  and  had 
many  quaint  dreams,  in  which  past 
scenes  and  present  objects  were  cu- 
riously blended  with  the  tales  I  had 
read  on  the  journey,  and  the  discourse 
I  had  heard  that  evening.  When  I 
awoke  in  the  morning,  my  thoughts  first 
flew  to  my  father,  of  whom  I  had  a  very 
passionate  desire  to  receive  tidings. 
When  my  waiting-woman  entered,  with 
a  letter  in  her  hand,  I  foolishly  did 
fancy  it  came  from  him,  which  could 
scarcely  be,  so  soon  after  our  coming 
to  town ;  but  I  quickly  discerned,  by 
the  rose-colored  string  which  it  was 
bounden  with,  and  then  the  handwrit- 
ing, that  it  was  not  from  him,  but 
from  her  whom,  next  to  him,  I  most 
desired  to  hear  from,  to  wit,  the  Count- 
ess of  Surrey.  That  sweet  lady  wrote 
tliat  she  ha  J  an  exceeding  great  de- 
sire to  sec  me,  and  would  be  more  be- 


holden to  my  aunt  than  she  could 
well  express,  if  she  would  confer  on 
her  so  great  a  benefit  as  to  permit  me 
to  spend  the  day  with  her  at  the 
Charter  House,  and  she  would  send 
her  coach  for  to  convey  me  there, 
wliich  should  never  have  done  her  so 
much  good  pleasure  before  as  in  that 
service.  And  more  to  that  effect,  with 
many  kind  and  gracious  words  touch- 
ing our  previous  meeting  and  corre- 
spondence. 

When  I  was  dressed,  I  took  her  la- 
dyship's letter  to  Mrs.  Ward,  who  was 
pleased  to  say  she  would  herself  ask 
permission  for  me  to  wait  upon  that 
noble  lady ;  but  that  her  ladyship 
might  not  be  at  the  charge  of  sending 
for  me,  she  would  herself,  if  my  aunt 
gave  her  license,  carry  me  to  the 
Charter  House,  for  that  she  was  to 
spend  some  hours  that  day  with  friends 
in  the  city,  and  "  it  would  greatly  con- 
tent her,"  she  added,  "  to  further  the 
expressed  wish  of  the  young  countess, 
whose  grandmother.  Lady  Mounteagle, 
and  so  many  of  her  kinsfolk,  were  Cath- 
ohcs,  or  at  the  least,  good  friends  to  such 
as  were  so."  My  aunt  did  give  leave 
for  me  to  go,  as  she  mostly  did  to 
whatsoever  Mrs.  Ward  proposed,  whom 
she  trusted  entirely,  Avitli  a  singular 
great  affection,  only  bidding  her  to 
pray  that  she  might  not  die  in  her  ab- 
sence, for  that  she  feared  some  peaches 
she  had  eaten  the  day  before  had  dis- 
ordered her,  and  that  she  had  heard  of 
one  who  had  died  of  the  plague  some 
weeks  before  in  the  Tower.  Mrs.  Ward 
exhorted  her  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  to 
comfort  herself  both  ways,  for  that  the 
air  of  Holborn  was  so  good,  the  plague 
was  not  likely  to  come  into  it,  and  that 
the  kernels  of  peaches  being  medicinal, 
would  rather  prove  an  antidote  to  pes- 
tilence than  an  occasion  to  it ;  and  left 
her  better  satisfied,  insomuch  that  she 
sent  for  another  dish  ot'  peaches  for  to 
secure  the  benefit.  Before  I  left,  Kate 
bade  me  note  the  fashioa  of  the  suit 
my  Lady  Surrey  did  wear,  and  if  she 
had  on  her  own  hair,  and  if  she  dyed  it, 
and  if  she  covered  her  bosom,  or  wore 
plaits,  and  if  her  stomacher  was  straight 


Cjnsta.ice  Sherwood, 


55 


and  broad,  or  formed  a  long  waist,  ex- 
tending downward,  and  many  more 
points  touching  her  attire,  which  I 
cannot  now  call  to  mind.  As  I  went 
through  the  hall  to  the  steps  where 
Mistress  Ward  was  already  standing, 
Muriel  came  hurrying  toward  me, 
with  a  faint  color  coming  and  going  in 
her  sallow  cheek,  and  twice  she  tried 
to  speak  and  failed.  But  when  I  kissed 
her  she  put  her  lips  close  to  my  ear 
and  whispered, 

*•  Sweet  little  cousin,  there  be  in 
London  prisoners  in  a  very  bad  plight, 
in  filthy  dungeons,  because  of  their 
religion.  The  noble  young  Lady 
Surrey  hath  a  tender  heart  toward 
such  if  she  do  but  hear  of  them. 
Prithee,  sweet  coz,  move  her  to 
send  them  relief  in  food,  money,  or 
clothing." 

Then  Mistress  Ward  called  to  me  to 
hasten,  and  I  ran  away,  but  Muriel 
stood  at  the  window,  and  as  we  passed 
she  kissed  her  hand,  in  which  was  a 
gold  angel,  which  my  father  had  gifted 
me  with  at  parting. 

"  Mrs.  Ward,"  I  said,  as  we  went 
along,  "  my  cousin  Muriel  is  not  fair, 
and  yet  her  face  doth  commend  itself 
to  my  fancy  more  than  many  fair  ones 
I  have  seen  ;  it  is  so  kindly." 

"  I  have  even  from  her  infancy 
loved  her,"  she  answered,  "  and  thus 
much  I  will  say  of  her,  that  many 
have  been  titled  saints  who  had  not, 
methinks,  more  virtue  than  I  have  no- 
ticed in  Muriel." 

"  Doth  she  herself  visit  the  pris- 
oners she  spoke  of  ?" 

"  She  and  I  do  visit  them  and  carry 
them  relief  when  we  can  by  any  means 
prevail  with  the  gaolers  from  compas- 
sion or  through  bribing  of  them  to  ad- 
mit us.  But  it  is  not  always  conven- 
ient to  let  this  be  known,  not  even  at 
home,  but  1  ween,  Constance,  as  thou 
wilt  have  me  to  call  thee  so,  that  Mu- 
riel saw  in  thee — for  she  has  a  won- 
derful penetrative  spirit — that  thou 
dost  know  when  to  speak  and  when  to 
keep  silence." 

"And  may  I  go  with  you  to  the 
prisons  ?"   I  asked  with  a  hot  feeling 


in  my  heart,  which  I  had  not  felt  since 
I  had  left  home. 

"  Thou  art  far  too  young,"  she  an- 
swered. "  But  I  will  tell  thee  what 
thou  canst  do.  Thou  mayst  work  and 
beg  for  these  good  man,  aid  not  be 
ashamed  of  so  doing.  None  may 
visit  them  who  have  not  made  up 
their  minds  to  die,  if  they  should  be 
denounced  for  their  charity." 

"  But  Muriel  is  young,"  I  answered. 
"  Hath  she  so  resolved  ?" 

"  Muriel  is  young,"  was  the  reply ; 
"  but  she  13  one  in  whom  wisdom  and 
holiness  have  forestalled  age.  For  two 
years  that  she  hath  been  my  compan- 
ion on  such  occasions,  she  has  each 
day  prepared  for  martyrdom  by  such 
devout  exercises  as  strengthen  the 
soul  at  the  approach  of  death." 

"And  Kate  and  Polly,"  I  asked, 
"  are  they  privy  to  the  dangers  that  you 
do  run,  and  have  they  no  like  am- 
bition?" 

"  Rather  the  contrary,"  she  an- 
swered ;  "  but  neither  they  nor  any  one 
else  in  the  house  is  fully  acquainted 
with  these  secret  errands  save  Mr. 
Congleton,  and  he  did  for  a  long  time 
refuse  his  daughter  license  to  go  with 
me,  until  at  last,  by  prayers  and  tears, 
she  won  him  over  to  suffer  it.  But  he 
will  never  permit  thee  to  do  the  like, 
for  that  thy  father  hath  intrusted  thee 
to  his  care  for  greater  safety  in  these 
troublesome  times." 

"  Pish !"  I  cried  pettishly,  "  safety 
has  a  dull  mean  sound  in  it  which 
I  mishke.  I  would  I -were  mine  own 
mistress." 

"Wish  no  such  thing,  Constance 
Sherwood,"  was  her  grave  answer. 
"  Wilfulness  was  never  nurse  to  virtue, 
but  ra,ther  her  foe  ;  nor  ever  did  a  re- 
bellious spirit  prove  the  herald  of  true 
greatness.  And  now,  mark  my  words. 
Almighty  God  hath  given  thee  a  friend 
far  above  thee,  in  rank,  and  I  doubt 
not  in  merit  also,  but  whose  faith,  if 
report  saith  true,  doth  run  great  dan- 
gers, and  with  few  to  advise  her  in 
these  evil  days  in  which  wq  Uve.  Per- 
adventure  he  hath  appointed  thee  a 
work  in  a  palace  as  weighty  as  that  ot 


56 


Constance  Sherwood, 


others  in  ji  dungeon.  vSet  thyself  to  it 
with  thy  whole  heart,  and  such  prayers 
as  draw  down  blessings  from  above. 
There  be  great  need  in  these  times  to 
bear  in  remembrance  what  the  Lord 
says,  that  he  will  be  ashamed  in  hea- 
ven before  his  angels  of  such  as  be 
ashamed  of  him  on  earth.  And  many 
there  are,  I  greatly  fear,  who  though 
they  be  Catholics,  do  assist  the  here- 
tics by  their  cowardice  to  suppress  the 
true  religion  in  this  land  ;  and  I  pray 
to  God  this  may  never  be  our  case. 
Yet  I  would  not  have  thee  to  be 
rash  in  speech,  using  harsh  words,  or 
needlessly  rebuking  others,  Avhicli 
would  not  become  thy  age,  or  be  fit- 
ting and  modest  in  one  of  inferior 
rank,  but  only  where  faith  and  con- 
science be  in  question  not  to  be  afraid 
to  speak.  And  now  God  bless  thee, 
who  should  be  an  Esther  in  this  house, 
wherein  so  many  true  confessors  of 
Christ  some  years  ago  surrendered  their 
lives  in  great  misery  and  torments, 
rather  than  yield  up  their  faith." 

This  she  said  as  we  stopped  at  the 
gate  of  the  Charter  House,  where  one 
of  the  serving-men  of  the  Countess  of 
Surrey  was  waiting  to  conduct  me  to 
her  lodgings,  having  had  orders  to  that 
effect.  She  left  me  in  his  charge,  and 
I  followed  him  across  the  square,  and 
through  the  cloisters  and  passages 
which  led  to  the  gallery,  where  my 
lady's  chamber  was  situated.  My 
heart  fluttered  like  a  frightened  caged 
bird  during  that  walk,  for  there  was  a 
solemnity  about  the  place  such  as 
I  had  not  been  used  to,  and  which 
filled  me  with  apprehension  lest  I 
should  be  wanting  in  due  respect  where 
so  much  state  was  carried  on.  But 
when  the  door  was  opened  at  one  end 
of  the  gallery,  and  my  sweet  lady  ran 
out  to  meet  me  with  a  cry  of  joy,  the 
silly  heart,  like  a  caught  bird,  nestled 
in  her  embrace,  and  my  lips  joined 
themselves  to  hers  in  a  fond  manner, 
as  if  not  willing  to  part  again,  but  by 
fervent  kisses  supplying  the  place  of 
words,  which  were  lacking,  to  express 
the  great  mutual  joy  of  that  meeting, 
until  at  last  my  lady  raised  her  head, 


and  still  holding  my  hands,  cried  out  as 
she  gazed  on  my  face  : 

"  You  are  more  welcome,  sweet  one, 
than  my  poor  words  can  say.  I  pray 
you,  doff  your  hat  and  mantle,  and 
come  and  sit  by  me,  for  'tis  a  weary 
while  since  we  have  met,  and  those  are 
gone  from  us  who  loved  us  then,  and  for 
their  sakes  we  must  needs  love  one 
another  dearly,  if  our  hearts  did  not  of 
themselves  move  us  unto  it,  which 
indeed  they  do,  if  I  may  judge  of 
yours,  Mistress  Constance,  by  mine 
own." 

Then  we  kissed  again,  and  she  passed 
her  arm  around  my  neck  with  so  many 
graceful  endearments,  in  which  were 
blended  girlish  simplicity  and  a  youth- 
ful yet  matronly  dignity,  that  I  felt 
that  day  the  love  which,  methinks,  up 
to  that  time  had  had  its  seat  mostly  in 
the  fancy,  take  such  root  in  mine  heart, 
that  it  never  lost  its  hold  on  it. 

At  the  first  our  tongues  were  some- 
what tied  by  joy  and  lack  of  knowledge 
how  to  begin  to  converse  on  the  many 
subjects  whereon  both  desh-ed  to  hear 
the  other  speak,  and  the  disuse  of  such 
intercourse  as  maketli  it  easy  to  dis- 
course on  what  the  heart  is  full  of. 
Howsoever,  Lady  Surrey  questioned 
mc  touching  my  father,  and  what  had 
befallen  us  since  my  mother's  death. 
I  told  her  that  he  had  left  his  home, 
and  sent  me  to  London  by  reason  of 
the  present  troubles  ;  but  without  men- 
tion of  what  I  did  apprehend  to  be  his 
further  intent.  And  she  then  said  that 
the  concern  she  was  in  anent  her  good 
father  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  did  cause 
her  to  pity  those  who  were  also  in 
trouble. 

"  But  his  grace,'*  I  answered,  "  is,  I 
hope,  in  safety  at  present,  and  in  his 
own  house?" 

"In  this  house,  indeed,"  she  did 
reply,  "but  a  strait  prisoner  in  Sir 
Henry  Neville's  custody,  and  not 
suffered  to  see  his  friends  without  her 
majesty's  especial  permission.  He  did 
send  for  his  son  and  me  last  evening, 
having  obtained  leave  for  to  see  us, 
which  he  had  not  done  since  the  day 
my  lord  and  I  were  married  again,  by 


Constance  Sherwood, 


57 


his  order,  from  the  Tower,  out  of  fear 
lest  our  first  marriage,  being  made 
before  Phil  was  quite  twelve  years  old, 
it  should  have  been  annulled  by  order 
of  the  queen,  or  by  some  other  means. 
It  grieved  me  much  to  notice  how  gray 
his  hair  had  grown,  and  that  his  eyes 
lacked  their  wonted  fire.  When  we 
entered  he  was  sitting  in  a  chair, 
leaning  backward,  with  his  head  almost 
over  the  back  of  it,  looking  at  a  candle 
which  burnt  before  him,  and  a  letter  in 
his  hand.  He  smiled  when  lie  saw  us, 
and  said  the  greatest  comfort  he  had 
in  the  world  was  that  we  were  now  so 
joined  together  that  nothing  could  ever 
part  us.  You  see.  Mistress  Constance," 
she  said,  with  a  pretty  blush  and  smile, 
"  I  now  do  wear  my  wedding-ring  be- 
low the  middle  joint." 

"  And  do  you  live  alone  with  my 
lord  now  in  these  grand,  chambers  ?" 
I  said,  looking  round  at  the  walls,  which 
were  hung  with  rare  tapestry  and  fine 
pictures. 

"  Bess  is  with  me,"  she  answered, 
"  and  so  will  remain  I  hope  until  she  is 
fourteen,  when  she  will  be  married  to 
my  Lord  William,  my  lord's  brother. 
Our  Moll  is  likewise  here,  and  was  to 
have  wedded  my  Lord  Thomas  when 
she  did  grow  up  ;  but  she  is  not  like  to 
live,  the  physicians  do  say." 

The  sweet  lady's  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  but,  as  if  unwilling  to  entertain 
me  with  her  griefs,  she  quickly  changed 
discourse,  and  spoke  of  my  coming 
unto  London,  and  inquired  if  my  aunt's 
house  were  a  pleasant  one,  and  if  she 
was  like  to  prove  a  good  kinswoman 
to  me.  I  told  her  how  comfortable 
had  been  the  manner  of  my  reception, 
and  of  my  cousins'  goodness  to  me ; 
at  the  which  she  did  express  great 
contentment,  and  would  not  be  satisfied 
until  I  had  described  each  of  them  in 
turn,  and  what  good  looks  or  what 
good  qualities  they  had  ;  which  I  could 
the  more  easily  do  that  i\\Q,  first  could 
be  discerned  even  at  first  sight,  and 
touching  the  last,  I  had  warrant  from 
Mrs.  Ward's  commendations,  which 
had  more  weight  than  my  own  speer- 
ings,  even  if  I  had  been  a  year  and 


not  solely  a  day  in  their  company. 
She  wJis  vastly  taken  with  what  I 
related  to  her  of  Muriel,  and  that  she 
did  visit  and  relieve  poor  persons  and 
prisoners,  and  wished  she  had  liberty 
to  do  the  like  ;  and  with  a  lovely  blush 
and  a  modest  confusion,  as  of  one  who 
doth  not  willingly  disclose  her  good 
deeds,  she  told  me  all  the  time  she 
could  spare  she  did  employ  in  making 
clothes  for  such  as  she  could  hear  of, 
and  also  salves  and  cordials  (such  as 
she  had  learnt  to  compound  from  her 
dear  grandmother),  and  privately  sent 
them  by  her  waiting-maid,  who  was  a 
young  gentlewoman  of  good  family, 
who  had  lost  her  parents,  and  was 
most  excellently  endowed  with  virtue 
and  piety. 

"  Come  to  my  closet.  Miss  Con- 
stance," she  said,  "  and  I  doubt  not  but 
we  shall  find  Milicent  at  work,  if  so  be  she 
has  not  gone  abroad  to-day  on  some 
such  errand  of  charity."  Upon  which 
she  led  the  way  through  a  second 
chamber,  still  more  richly  fitted  up 
than  the  first,  into  a  smaller  one, 
wherein,  when  she  opened  the  door,  I 
saw  a  pretty  living  picture  of  two  girls 
at  a  table,  busily  engaged  vv^lth  a  store 
of  bottles  and  herbs  and  ointments, 
which  v»^ere  strewn  upon  it  in  great 
abundance.  One  of  them  was  a 
young  maid,  who  was  measuring  drops 
into  a  phial,  with  a  look  so  attentive 
upon  it  as  if  that  little  bottle  had  been 
the  circle  of  her  thoughts.  She  was 
very  fair  and  slim,  and  had  a  delicate 
appearance,  which  minded  me  of  a 
snow-drop;  and  indeed,  by  v*'hat  my 
lady  said,  she  was  a  floweret  which 
had  blossomed  amidst  the  frosts  and 
cold  Avinds  of  adversity.  By  her  side 
was  the  most  gleesome  wench,  of  not 
more  than  eight  years,  I  ever  did  set 
eyes  on  ;  of  a  fatness  that  at  her  age 
was  comely,  and  a  face  so  full  of  wag- 
gery and  saucy  mirth,  that  but  to  look 
upon  it  drove  away  melancholy.  She 
Avas  compounding  in  a  cup  a  store  of 
various  liquids,  which  she  said  did 
cure  shrewishness,  and  said  she  would 
pour  some  into  her  nurse's  night- 
draught,  to  mend  her  of  that  disorder. 


58 


Constance  Sherwood. 


"All,  Nap,"  she  cried,  as  we  en- 
tered, "  I'll  help  thee  to  a  taste-of  this 
rare  medicine,  for  methinks  thou  art 
somewhat  shrewish  also  and  not  so 
conformable  to  thy  husband's  will,  my 
lady,  as  a  good  wife  should  be.  By 
that  same  token  that  my  lord  willed  to 
take  me  behind  him  on  his  horse  a 
gay  ride  round  the  square,  and,  forsooth, 
because  I  had  not  learnt  my  lesson, 
thou  didst  shut  me  up  to  die  of  melan- 
choly. Ah,  me  !  My  mother  had  a 
maid  called  Barbara — 

'  Sing  willow,  willow,  willow.' 

That  is  one  of  Phil's  favorite  songs. 
Milicent,  methinks  I  will  call  thee 
Barbara,  and  thou  shalt  sing  with  me — 

'  The  poor  soul  sat  sighing  by  a  sycamore  tree, — 
Sing  all  a  green  willow  ; 
Her  hand  on  her  bosom,' — 

There,  put  thy  hand  in  that  fashion— 

'  her  head  on  her  knee,'  — 

Nay,  prithee,  thou  must  bend  thy 
head  lower — 

'  Sing  willow,  willow,  willow.'  " 

"  My  lady,"  said  the  gentlewoman, 
smiling,  "  I  promise  you  I  dare  not 
take  upon  me  to  fulfil  my  tasks  with 
credit  to  myself  or  your  ladyship,  if 
Mistress  Bess  hath  the  run  of  this 
room,  and  doth  prepare  cordials  after 
her  fashion  from  your  ladyship's 
stores." 

"  Ah,  Bess !"  quoth  my  lady,  shak- 
ing her  finger  at  the  saucy  one  ;  "  I'll 
deliver  thee  up  to  Mrs.  Fawcett,  who 
will  give  thee  a  taste  of  the  place  of 
correction ;  and  Phil  is  not  here  to-day 
to  beg  thee  off.  And  now,  good  Mih- 
cent,  prithee  make  a  bundle  of  such 
clothes  as  we  have  in  hand,  and  such 
comforts  as  be  suitable  to  such  as  are 
bick  and  in  prison,  for  this  sweet 
young  lady  hath  need  of  them  for  some 
who  be  in  that  sad  plight." 

"  And,  my  lady,"  quoth  the  gentle- 
woman, "I  would  fain  learn  how  to 
dress  wounds  when  the  flesh  is  galled ; 
for  I  do   sometimes   meet  with  poor 


men  who  do  suffer  in  that  way,  and 
would  relieve  them  if  I  could." 

"  I  know,"  I  cried,  "  of  a  rare  oint- 
ment my  mother  used  to  make  for 
that  sort  of  hurt ;  and  if  my  Lady 
Surrey  gives  me  license,  I  will  remem- 
ber you,  mistress,  with  the  receipt  of  it." 

My  lady,  with  a  kindly  smile  and 
expressed  thanks,  assented ;  and  when 
we  left  the  closet,  I  greatly  commend- 
ing the  young  gentlewoman's  beauty, 
she  said  that  beauty  in  her  was  the 
worst  half  of  her  merit. 

"  But,  Mistress  Constance,"  she 
said,  when  we  had  returned  to  the 
saloon,  "  I  may  not  send  her  to  such 
poor  men,  and  above  all,  priests,  who 
be  in  prison  for  their  faith,  as  I  hear, 
to  my  great  sorrow,  there  be  so  many  at 
this  time,  and  who  suffer  great  hard- 
ships, more  than  can  be  easily  beheved, 
for  she  is  Protestant,  and  not  through 
conforming  to  the  times,  but  so  settled 
in  her  way  of  thinking,  and  earnest 
therein,  having  been  brought  up  to  it, 
that  she  would  not  so  much  as  open  a 
Catholic  book  or  Hsten  to  a  word  in 
defence  of  papists." 

"But  how,  then,  doth  she  serve  a 
Catholic  lady  ?"  I  asked,  with  a  beat- 
ing heart ;  and  oh,  with  what  a  sad  one 
did  hear  her  answer,  for  it  was  as-  fol- 
lows: 

"  Dear  Constance,  I  must  needs  obey 
those  who  have  a  right  to  command 
me,  such  as  his  grace  my  good  father 
and  my  husband  ;  and  they  are  both 
very  urgent  and  resolved  that  by  all 
means  I  shall  conform  to  the  times. 
So  I  do  go  to  Protestant  service  ;  but 
I  use  at  home  my  prayers,  as  my 
grandmother  did  teach  me ;  and  Phil 
says  them  too,  when  I  can  get  him  to 
say  any." 

"Then  you  do  not  hear  mass,"  I 
said,  sorrowfully, "  or  confess  your  sins 
to  a  priest  ?" 

*'No,"  she  answered,  in  a  sad  man- 
ner ;  "  I  once  asked  my  Lady  Lumle3% 
who  is  a  good  Catholic,  if  she  could 
procure  I  should  see  a  priest  with  that 
intent  at  Arundel  House ;  but  she 
turned  pale  as  a  sheet,  and  said  that  to 
get  any  one  to  be  reconciled  who  had 


Constance  Sherwood, 


59 


once  conformed  to  the  Protestant  reli- 
gion, was  to  run  danger  of  death  ;  and 
albeit  for  her  own  part  she  would  not 
refuse  to  die  for  so  good  a  cause,  she 
dared  not  bring  her  father's  gray  hairs 
to  the  block." 

As  we  were  holding  this  discourse — 
and  she  so  intent  in  speaking,  and  I  in 
listening,  that  we  had  not  heard  the 
door  open — Lord  Surrey  suddenly 
stood  before  us.  His  height  made 
him  more  than  a  boy,  and  his  face 
would  not  allow  him  a  man ;  for  the 
rest,  he  was  well-proportioned,  and  did 
all  things  with  so  notable  a  grace,  that 
nature  had  stamped  him  with  the  mark 
of  true  nobility.  He  made  a  slight 
obeisance  to  me,  and  I  noticed  that  his 
cheek  was  flushed,  and  that  he  grasped 
the'  handle  of  his  sword  with  an  anger 
which  took  not  away  the  sweetness  of 
his  countenance,  but  gave  it  an  amiable 
sort  of  fierceness.  Then,  as  if  unable 
to  restrain  himself,  he  burst  forth, 

"  Nan,  an  order  is  come  for  his  grace 
to  be  forthwith  removed  to  the 
Tower,  and  I'll  warrant  that  was 
the  cause  he  was  suffered  to  see  us 
yesterday.  God  send  it  prove  not  a 
iinal  parting !" 

"Is  his  grace  gone?"  cried  the 
countess,  starting  to  her  feet,  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands  with  a  sorrowful  ges- 
ture. 


"'  He  goes  even  now,"  answered  the 
earl ;  and  both  went  to  the  window, 
whence  they  could  see  the  coach  in 
v;hich  the  duke  was  for  the  third  time 
carried  from  his  home  to  the  last  lodg- 
ing he  was  to  have  on  this  earth.  Oh, 
what  a  sorrowful  sight  it  was  for  those 
young  eyes  which  gazed  on  the  sad 
removal  of  the  sole  parent  both  had 
left !  How  her  tears  did  flow  silently 
like  a  stream  from  a  deep  fount,  and 
his  with  wild  bursts  of  grief,  like  the 
gushings  of  a  torrent  over  rocks  !  His 
head  fell  on  her  shoulder,  and  as  she 
threw  her  arms  round  him,  her  tears 
wetted  his  hair.  Methought  then  that 
in  the  pensive  tenderness  of  her  down- 
cast face  there  was  somewhat  of 
motherly  as  well  as  of  wifely  affection. 
She  put  her  arai  in  his,  and  led  him 
from  the  room ;  and  I  remained  alone 
for  a  short  time  entertaining  myself 
with  sad  thoughts  anent  these  two 
young  noble  creatures,  who  at  so  early 
an  age  had  become  acquainted  with 
so  much  sorrow,  and  hoping  that  the 
darkness  which  did  beset  the  morning 
of  their  lives  might  prove  but  as  the 
clouds  which  at  times  deface  the  sky  be- 
fore a  brilliant  sunshine  doth  take  pos- 
session of  it,  and  dislodge  these  deceit- 
ful harbingers,  which  do  but  heighten 
in  the  end  by  contrast  the  resplendency 
they  did  threaten  to  obscure. 


6o 


Constancs  SJierwood^ 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

After  I  had  been  musing  a  little 
while,  Mistress  Bess  ran  into  the 
room,  and  cried  to  some  one  behind 
her: 

"Nan's  friend  is  here,  and  she  is 
mine  too,  for  we  all  played  in  a  garden 
with  her  when  I  was  little.  Prithee, 
come  and  see  her."  Then  turning  to 
me,  but  yet  holding  the  handle  of  the 
door,  she  said :  "  Will  is  so  unmannerly, 
I  be  ashamed  of  him.  He  will  not  so 
much  as  show  liimself." 

"  Then,  prithee,  come  alone,"  I  an- 
swered. Upon  which  she  came  and 
sat  on  my  knee,  with  her  arm  round 
my  neck,  and  whispered  in  mine  ear : 

"  Moll  is  very  sick  to-day ;  will  you 
not  see  her.  Mistress  Sherwood  ?" 

"  Yea,  if  so  be  I  have  license,"  I 
answered ;  and  she,  taking  me  by  the 
hand,  offered  to  lead  me  up  the  stairs 
to  the  room  where  she  lay.  I,  follow- 
ing her,  came  to  the  door  of  the  cham- 
ber, but  would  not  enter  till  Bess 
fetched  the  nurse,  who  was  the  same 
had  been  at  Sherwood  Hall,  and  who, 
knowing  my  name,  was  glad  to  see  me, 
and  with  a  curtsey  invited  me  in. 
White  as  a  lily  was  the  little  face  rest- 
ing on  a  pillow,  with  its  blue  eyes 
half  shut,  and  a  store  of  golden  hair 
about  it,  which  minded  me  of  the 
glories  round  angels'  heads  in  my 
mother's  missal. 

"  Sweet  lamb  !"  quoth  the  nurse, 
as  I  stooped  to  kiss  the  pale  forehead. 
"  She  be  too  good  for  this  world.  Oft- 
times  she  doth  babble  in  her  sleep  of 
heaven,  and  angels,  and  saints,  and  a 
wreath  of  wliite  roses  wherewith  a 
bright  lady  will  crown  her." 


"  Kiss  my  lips,"  the  sick  child 
softly  whispered,  as  I  bent  over  her  bed. 
Which  when  I  did,  she  asked,  "  What 
is  your  name?  I  mind  your  face." 
When  I  answered,  "  Constance  Sher- 
wood," she  smiled,  as  if  remembering 
where  we  had  met.  "I  heard  my 
grandam  calling  me  last  night,"  she 
said ;  "  I  be  going  to  her  soon."  Then 
a  fit  of  pain  came  on,  and  I  had  to 
leave  her.  She  did  go  from  this  world 
a  few  days  after ;  and  the  nurse  then 
told  me  her  last  words  had  been 
"Jesu!   Mary!" 

That  day  I  did  converse  again  alone 
with  my  Lady  Surrey  after  dinner, 
and  walked  in  the  garden ;  and  when 
we  came  in,  before  I  left,  she  gave 
me  a  purse  with  some  gold  pieces  in  it, 
which  the  earl  her  husband  willed  to 
bestow  on  Catholics  in  prison  for  their 
faith.  For  she  said  he  had  so  tender 
and  compassionate  a  spirit,  that  if  he 
did  but  hear  of  one  in  distress  he 
would  never  rest  until  he  had  relieved 
him  ;  and  out  of  the  affection  he  had 
for  Mr.  Martin,  v/ho  was  one  while 
his  tutor,  he  was  favorably  inclined 
toward  Catholics,  albeit  himself  re- 
solved to  conform  to  the  queen's  re- 
ligion. When  Mistress  Ward  came 
for  me,  the  countess  would  have  her 
shown  into  her  chamber,  and  would 
not  be  contented  without  she  ordered 
her  coach  to  carry  us  back  to  Holborn, 
that  we  might  take  with  us  the  clothes 
and  cordials  which  she  did  bestow 
upon  us  for  our  poor  clients.  She 
begged  Mrs.  Ward's  prayers  for  his 
grace,  that  he  might  soon  be  set  at  lib- 
erty ;  for  she  said  in  a  pretty  manner, 
"It  must  needs  be  that  Almighty  God 
*akes  most   heed   of  the   prayers   of 


Constance  Sherwood* 


6l 


Bucli  as  visit  liim  in  his  affliction  in 
the  person  of  poor  prisoners  ;  and  she 
hoped  one  day  to  be  free  to  do  so  her- 
self." Then  she  questioned  of  the 
wants  of  those  Mistress  Ward  had  at 
Ihat  time  knowledge  of;  and  when  she 
heard  in  what  sore  plight  they  stood, 
it  did  move  her  to  so  great  compas- 
t;ion,  that  she  declared  it  would  be  now 
one  of  her  chiefest  cares  and  pleasures 
in  life  to  provide  conveniences  for 
them.  And  she  besought  Mistress 
Ward  to  be  a  good  friend  to  her  with 
mine  aunt,  and  procure  her  to  permit 
of  my  frequent  visits  to  Howard  House, 
as  the  Charter  House  is  now  often 
called:  which  would  be  the  greatest 
good  she  could  do  her ;  and  that  she 
would  be  most  glad  also  if  she  herself 
would  likewise  favor  her  sometimes 
with  her  company ;  which;  "  if  it  be 
not  for  mine  own  sake,  Mistress 
Ward,"  she  sweetly  said,  "  let  it  be 
for  his  sake  who,  in  the  person  of  his 
afflicted  priests,  doth  need  assistance." 

When  w^e  reached  home,  we  hid 
what  we  had  brought  under  our  man- 
tles, and  then  in  Mistress  Ward's 
chamber,  where  Muriel  followed  us. 
When  the  door  was  shut  we  displayo»d 
these  jewelled  stores  before  her  pleased 
eyes,  which  did  beam  with  joy  at  the 
Hight. 

"Ah,  Muriel,"  cried  Mistress 
Ward,  "  we  have  found  an  Esther  in  a 
palace  ;  and  I  pray  to  God  there  may 
be  other  such  in  this  town  we  ken  not  of, 
Avho  in  secret  do  yet  bear  affliction  to  the 
ancient  faith." 

Muriel  said  in  her  slow  way  :  "  We 
must  needs  go  to  the  Clink  to-morrow ; 
for  there  is  there  a  priest  whose  flesh 
has  fallen  off  his  Heet  by  reason  of  his 
long  stay  in  a  pestered  and  infected 
d.ungeon.  Mr.  Roper  told  my  father 
of  him,  and  he  says  the  gaoler  will  let 
ais  in  if  he  be  reasonably  dealt  Avith." 

"  We  will  essay  your  ointment. 
Mistress  Sherwood,"  said  Mistress 
Ward,  '•  if  so  be  you  can  make  it  in 
time." 

"  I  care  not  if  I  sit  up  all  night,"  I 
cried,  "  if  anj  one  will  buy  me  the 
herbs  I  have   need  of  for   the    com- 


pounding thereof."  Which  Muriel 
said  she  would  prevail  on  one  of  the 
servants  to  do. 

The  bell  did  then  ring  for  supper ; 
and  when  we  were  all  seated,  Kate 
was  urgent  with  me  for  to  tell  her  how 
my  Lady  Surrey  was  dressed  ;  which 
I  declared  to  her  as  follows :  "  She 
had  on  a  brown  juste  au  corps  em- 
broidered, with  puffe4  sleeves,  and 
petticoat  braided  of  a  deeper  nuance  ; 
and  on  her  head  a  lace  cap,  and  a  lace 
handkerchief  on  her  bosom." 

"And,  prithee,  what  jewels  had  she 
on,  sweet  coz  ?" 

"A  long  double  chain  of  gold  and 
a  brooch  of  pearls,"  I  answered. 

"  And  his  grace  of  Norfolk  is  once 
more  removed  to  the  Tower,"  said  Mr. 
Congleton  sorrowfully.  "'Tis  like  to 
kill  him  soon,  and  so  save  her  majesty's 
ministers  the  pains  to  bring  him  to  the 
block.  His  physician.  Dr.  Rhuenbeck, 
cays  he  is  afflicted  with  the  dropsy." 

Polly  said  she  had  been  to  visit  the 
Countess  of  Northumberland,  who  w^as 
so  grievously  afflicted  at  her  husband's 
death,  that  it  was  feared  she  would  fall 
sick  of  grief  if  she  had  not  company  to 
divert  her  from  her  sad  thoughts. 

"  Which  I  warrant  none  could  effect 
so  well  as  thee,  wench,"  her  father 
said ;  "  for,  beshrew  rae,  if  thou  wouldst 
not  make  a  man  laugh  on  his  way  to 
the  scaffold  with  thy  mad  tallc.  And 
was  the  poor  lady  of  better  cheer  for 
thy  company  ?" 

"  Yea,  for  mine,"  Polly  answered ; 
"or  else  for  M.  de  la  Motte's,  who 
came  in  to  pay  his  devoirs  to  her,  for 
the  first  time,  I  take  it,  since  her  lord's 
death.  And  after  his  first  speech, 
which  caused  her  to  weep  a  little,  he 
did  carry  on  so  brisk  a  discourse  as  I 
never  noticed  any  but  a  Frenchman 
able  to  do.  And  she  w^as  not  the  worst 
pleased  with  it  that  the  cunning  gen- 
tleman did  interweave  it  wiLh  anec- 
dotes of  the  queen's  majesty ;  which, 
albeit  he  related  them  with  gravit}^, 
did  carry  somewhat  of  ridicule  in  them. 
Such  as  of  her  grace's  dancing  on  Sun- 
day before  last  at  Lord  Northampton's 
wedding',  and   calling  him  to  witness 


62 


Constance  Sherwood. 


her  paces,  so  that  he  might  let  mon- 
sieur know  how  high  and  disposedly 
she  danced ;  so  that  he  would  not  have 
had  cause  to  complain,  in  case  he  had 
married  her,  that  she  was  a  boiteuse, 
as  had  been  maliciously  reported  of 
her  by  the  friends  of  the  Queen  of 
Scots.  And  also  how,  some  days  since, 
she  had  flamed  out  in  great  choler 
when  he  went  to  visit  her  at  Hampton 
Court ;  and  told  him,  so  loud  that  all 
her  ladies  and  officers  could  hear  her 
discourse,  that  Lord  North  had  let  her 
know  the  queen-mother  and  the  Duke 
of  Guise  had  dressed  up  a  buffoon  in 
an  English  fashion,  and  called  him  a 
Milor  du  Nord  ;  and  that  two  female 
dwarfs  had  been  likewise  dressed  up 
in  that  queen's  chamber,  and  invited 
to  mimic  her,  the  queen  of  England, 
with  great  derision  and  mockery.  *  I 
did  assure  her,'  M.  de  la  Motte  said, 
'  with  my  hand  on  my  heart,  and  such 
an  aggrieved  visage,  that  she  must 
needs  have  accepted  my  words  as  true, 
that  Milor  North  had  mistaken  the 
whole  intent  of  what  he  had  witnessed, 
from  his  great  ignorance  of  the  French 
tongue,  which  did  render  him  a  bad 
interpreter  between  princes  ;  for  that 
the  queen-mother  did  never  cease  to 
praise  her  English  majesty's  beauty  to 
her  son,  and  all  her  good  qualities, 
which  greatly  appeased  her  grace, 
who  desired  to  be  excused  if  she,  like- 
wise out  of  ignorance  of  the  French 
language,  had  said  aught  unbecoming 
touching  the  queen-mother.'  'Tis  a 
rare  dish  of  fun,  fit  to  set  before  a  king, 
to  hear  this  Monsieur  Ambassador 
speak  of  the  queen  when  none  are 
present  but  such  as  make  an  idol  of 
her,  as  some  do." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  her  father, 
when  she  paused  in  her  speech,  "I 
mislike  mea  with  double  visages  and 
double  tongues;  and  methinks  this 
monseer  hath  both,  and  withal  a  rare 
art  for  what  courtiers  do  call  diplo- 
macy, and  plain  men  lying.  His 
speeches  to  her  majesty  be  so  fulsome 
in  her  praise,  as  I  have  heard  some 
say  who  are  at  court,  and  his  flattery 
so    palpable,   that     they    have   been 


ashamed  to  hear  it;  but  behind  her 
back  he  doth  disclose  her  failings  with 
an  admirable  slyness." 

"  If  he  be  sly,"  answered  Polly,  "  I'll 
warrant  he  finds  his  match  in  hor 
majesty." 

"  Yea,"  cried  Kate, "  even  as  poor 
Madge  Arundell  experienced  to  her 
cost." 

"  Ay,"  quoth  Polly,  "  she  catcheth 
many  poor  fish,  who  little  know  what 
snare  is  laid  for  them." 

"  And  how  did  her  highness  catch 
Mistress  Arundell  ?"  I  asked. 

"In  this  way,  coz,"  quoth  Polly: 
"  she  doth  often  ask  the  ladies  round 
her  chamber,  '  If  they  love  to  think  of 
marriage  ?'  and  the  wise  ones  do  con- 
ceal well  their  liking  thereunto,  know- 
ing the  queen's  judgment  in  the  matter. 
But  pretty,  simple  Madge  Arundell,  not 
knowing  so  deeply  as  her  fellows,  was 
asked  one  day  hereof,  and  said,  *  She 
had  thought  much  about  marriage,  if 
her  father  did  consent  to  the  man  she 
loved.'  'You  seem  honest,  i'  faith,' 
said  the  queen ;  '  I  will  sue  for  you  to 
your  father.'  At  which  the  damsel 
was  well  pleased;  and  when  her 
father.  Sir  Robert  Arundell,  came  to 
court,  the  queen  questioned  him  about 
his  daughter's  marriage,  and  pressed 
him  to  give  consent  if  the  match  were 
discreet.  Sir  Robert,  much  astonished, 
said,  '  He  never  had  heard  his  daugh- 
ter had  liking  to  any  man ;  but  he 
would  give  his  free  consent  to  what 
was  most  pleasing  to  her  highness's 
wiU  and  consent.'  '  Then  I  will  do 
the  rest,'  saith  the  queen.  Poor 
Madge  was  called  in,  and  told  by  the 
queen  that  her  father  had  given  his 
free  consent.  *  Then,'  replied  th<; 
simple  one,  '  I  shall  be  happy,  an'  it 
please  your  grace.'  *  So  thou  shalt ; 
but  not  to  be  a  fool  and  marry,'  said 
the  queen.  '  I  have  his  consent  given 
to  me,  and  I  vow  thou  shalt  never  got 
it  in  thy  possession.  So  go-to  about 
thy  business.  I  see  thou  art  a  bold 
one  to  own  thy  foolishness  so  readily.'  ' 

"  Ah  me !"  cried  Kate,  "  I  be  glad 
Kot  to  be  a  maid  to  her  majesty ;  for  \ 
would   not  know  how  to  answer   he.- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


63 


grace  if  she  should  ask  me  a  like  ques- 
tion ;  for  if  it  b©  bold  to  say  one  hath 
a  reasonable  desire  to  be  married,  I 
must  needs  be  bold  then,  for  I  would 
not  for  two  thousand  pounds  break  Mr. 
Lacy's  heart ;  and  he  saith  he  will  die 
if  I  do  not  marry  him.  But,  Polly, 
thou  wouldst  never  be  at  a  loss  to  an- 
swer her  majesty." 

"No  more  than  Pace  her  fool," 
quoth  Polly,  "  who,  when  she  said,  as 
he  entered  the  room, '  Now  we  shall 
hear  of  our  faults,'  cried  out,  *  Where 
is  the  use  of  speaking  of  what  all  the 
town  doth  talk  of?'" 

"The  fool  should  have  been 
whipped,"  Mistress  Ward  said. 

"  For  his  wisdom,  or  for  his  folly, 
good  Mistress  Ward?"  asked  Polly. 
"If  for  wisdom,  'tis  hard  to  beat  a 
man  for  being  wise.  If  for  folly,  to 
whip  a  fool  for  that  he  doth  follow  his 
calling,  and  as  I  be  the  Hcensed  fool  in 
this  house — which  I  do  take  to  be  the 
highest  exercise  of  wit  in  these  days, 
when  all  is  turned  upside  down — I  do 
wish  you  all  good-night,  and  to  be  no 
wiser  than  is  good  for  your  healths, 
and  no  more  fooHsh  than  suffices  to 
lighten  the  heart;"  and  so  laughing 
she  ran  away,  and  Kate  said  in  a  la- 
mentable voice, 

"  I  would  I  were  foolish,  if  it  light- 
ens the  heart." 

"  Content  thee,  good  Kate,"  I  said  ; 
but  in  so  low  a  voice  none  did  hear. 
Ajid  she  went  on, 

"  Mr.  Lacy  is  gone  to  Yorkshire  for 
three  weeks,  which  doth  make  me 
more  sad  than  can  be  thought  of." 

I  smiled ;  but  Muriel,  who  had  not 
yet  oped  her  lips  whilst  the  others 
were  talking,  rising,  kissed  her  sister, 
and  said,  "  Thou  wilt  have,  sweet  one, 
so  great  a  contentment  in  his  letters  as 
will  give  thee  patience  to  bear  the  loss 
of  his  good  company." 

At  the  which  Kate  brightened  a 
little.  To  live  with  Muriel  was  a 
preachment,  as  I  have  often  had  occa- 
sion since  to  find. 

On  the  first  Sunday  I  was  at  Lon- 
don, we  heard  mass  at  the  Portuguese 
ambassador's    house,   whither     many 


Catholics  of  hi;3  acquaintance  resorted 
for  that  purpose  from  our  side  of  the 
city.  In  the  afternoon  a  gentleman, 
who  had  travelled  day  and  night  from 
Staffordshire  on  some  urgent  business, 
brought  me  a  letter  from  my  father, 
writ  only  four  days  before  it  came  t<; 
hand,  and  about  a  week  after  my  de- 
parture from  home.     It  was  as  follows  : 

"Mine  own  dear  Child, — The 
bearer  of  this  letter  hath  promised  to 
do  me  the  good  service  to  deliver  it  to 
thee  as  soon  as  he  shall  reach  London  ; 
which,  as  he  did  intend  to  travel  day 
and  night,  I  compute  will  be  no  later 
than  the  end  of  this  week,  or  on  Sun- 
day at  the  farthest.  And  for  this  his 
civihty  I  do  stand  greatly  indebted  to 
him ;  for  in  these  straitened  times  'tis 
no  easy  matter  to  get  letters  conveyed 
from  one  part  of  the  kingdom  to  another 
without  danger  of  discovering  that 
which  for  the  present  should  rather  be 
concealed.  I  received  notice  two  days 
ago  from  Mistress  Ward's  sister  of 
your  good  journey  and  arrival  at  Lon- 
don ;  and  I  thank  God,  my  very  good 
child,  that  he  has  had  thee  in  his  holy 
keeping  and  bestowed  thee  under  the 
roof  of  my  good  sister  and  brother ;  so 
that,  with  a  mind  at  ease  in  respect  to 
thee,  my  dear  sole  earthly  treasure,  I 
may  be  free  to  follow  whatever  course 
his  providence  may  appoint  to  me, 
who,  albeit  unworthy,  do  aspire  to 
leave  all  things  to  follow  him.  And 
indeed  he  hath  already,  at  the  outset 
of  my  wanderings,  sweetly  disposed 
events  in  such  wise  that  chance  hath 
proved,  as  it  were,  the  servant  of  his 
providence;  and,  when  I  did  least 
look  for  it,  by  a  divine  ordination  fur- 
nished me,  w  ho  so  short  a  time  back 
parted  from  a  dear  child,  with  the  com- 
pany of  one  who  doth  stand  to  me  in 
lieu  of  her  who,  by  reason  of  her  ten- 
der sex  and  age,  I  am  compelled  tr, 
send  from  me.  For  being  necessita- 
ted, for  the  preservation  of  my  life,  to 
make  seldom  any  long  stay  in  one 
place,  I  had  need  of  a  youth  to  ride 
with  me  on  those  frequent  journeys, 
and  keep  me  company  in  such  places 


64 


Constance  Sherwood. 


as  I  may  withdraw  unto  for  quietness 
and  study.  So  being  in  Stafford  some 
few  days  back,  I  inquired  of  the  mas- 
ter of  the  inn  where  I  did  lay  for  one 
night,  if  it  were  not  possible  to  get  in 
that  city  a  youth  to  serve  me  as  a 
page,  whom  I  said  I  would  maintain 
as  a  gentleman  if  he  had  learning, 
nurture,  and  behavior  becoming  such 
a  person.  He  said  his  son,  who  was 
a  schoolmaster,  had  a  youth  for  a 
pupil  who  carried  virtue  in  his  very 
countenance ;  but  that  he  was  the 
child  c£  a  widow,  who,  he  much  feared, 
would  not  easily  be  persuaded  to  part 
from  him.  Thereupon  I  expressed  a 
great  desire  to  have  a  sight  of  this 
youth  and  charged  him  to  deal  with 
his  master  so  that  he  should  be  sent  to 
my  lodgings ;  which,  when  he  came 
there,  lo  and  behold,  I  perceived  with 
no  small  amazement  that  he  was  no 
other  than  Edmund  Genings,  who 
straightway  ran  into  my  arms,  and 
with  much  ado  restrained  lumself  from 
weeping,  so  greatly  was  he  moved 
with  conflicting  passions  of  present  joy 
and  recollected  sorrow  at  this  our  un- 
looked-for meeting ;  and  truly  mine 
own  contentment  therein  was  in  no 
wise  less  than  his.  He  told  me  that 
his  mother's  poverty  increasing,  she 
liad  moved  from  Lichfield,  where  it 
was  more  bitter  to  her,  by  reason  of 
ihc  affluence  in  which  she  had  before 
lived  in  that  city,  to  Stafford,  where 
none  did  know  them  ;  and  she  dwelt 
in  a  mean  lodging  in  a  poor  sort  of 
manner.  And  whereas  he  had  desired 
to  accept  the  offer  of  a  stranger,  with 
a  view  to  relieve  his  mother  from  the 
burden  of  his  support,  and  maybe  yield 
her  some  assistance  in  her  straits,  ho 
now  passionately  coveted  to  throw  his 
fortune  with  mine,  and  to  bo  entered 
as  a  page  in  my  service.  But  though 
she  had  been  willing  before,  from  ne- 
cessity, albeit  averse  by  inclination,  to 
part  with  him,  when  she  knew  mc  it 
seemed  awhile  impossible  to  gain  her 
consent.  Methinks  she  was  privy  to 
Edmund's  secret  good  opinion  of  Cath- 
olic religion,  and  feared,  if  he  should 
live  with  me,  the  effect  thereof  would 


follow.  But  her  necessities  were  so 
shai-p,  and  likewise  her  regrets  that  he 
should  lack  opportunities  for  his  fur- 
ther advance  in  learning,  which  she 
herself  was  unable  to  supply,  that  at 
length  by  long  entreaty  he  prevailed 
on  her  to  give  him  license  for  that 
which  his  heart  did  prompt  him  to  de- 
sire for  his  own  sake  and  hers.  And 
when  she  had  given  this  consent,  but 
not  before,  lest  it  should  appear  I  did 
seek  to  bribe  her  by  such  offers  to  so 
much  condescension  as  she  then 
evinced,  I  proposed  to  assist  her  in 
any  way  she  wished  to  the  bettering  of 
her  fortunes,  and  said  I  would  do  as 
much  whether  she  suffered  her  son  to 
abide  with  me  or  no:  which  did 
greatly  work  with  her  to  conceive  a 
more  favorable  opinion  of  me  than 
she  had  heretofore  held,  and  to  be  con- 
tented he  should  remain  in  my  service, 
as  he  himself  so  greatly  desired.  After 
some  further  discourse,  it  was  resolved 
that  1  should  furnish  her  with  so 
much  money  as  would  pay  her  debts 
and  carry  her  to  La  Rochelle,  where 
her  youngest  son  was  with  her  brother, 
who  albeit  he  had  met  with  great 
losses,  would  nevertheless,  she  felt  as- 
sured, assist  her  in  her  need.  Thus 
has  Edmund  become  to  mc  less  a  page 
than  a  pupil,  less  a  servant  than  a  son. 
I  will  keep  a  watchful  eye  over  his 
actions,  whom  I  already  perceive  to 
be  tractable,  capable,  willing  to  learn, 
and  altogether  such  as  his  early  years 
did  promise  he  should  be.  I  thank 
God,  who  has  given  me  so  great  a 
comfort  in  the  midst  of  so  great  trials, 
and  to  this  youth  in  me  a  father  rather 
than  a  master,  who  will  ever  deal  with 
him  in  an  honorable  and  loving  man- 
ner, both  in  respect  to  his  own  deserts 
and  to  her  merits,  whose  prayers  have, 
I  doubt  not,  procured  this  admirable 
result  of  what  was  in  no  wise  designed, 
but  by  God's  providence  fell  out  of 
the  asking  a  simple  question  in  an  inn 
and  of  a  stranger. 

"  And  now,  mine  only  and  very  dear 
child,  I  commend  thee  to  God's  holy 
keeping  ;  and  I  beseech  thee  to  be  as 
mindful  of  thy  duty  to  him  as  thou 


Constance  Sherwood. 


65 


hast  been  (and  most  especially  of  late) 
of  thine  to  me  ;  and  imprint  in  thy 
heart  those  words  of  holy  writ,  '  Not 
to  fear  those  that  kill  the  body,  but 
cannot  destroy  the  soul  ;*  but  withal, 
in  whatever  is  just  and  reasonable, 
and  not  clearly  against  CathoHc  re- 
ligion, to  observe  a  most  exact  obe- 
dience to  such  as  stand  to  thee  at 
j)resent  in  place  of  thy  unworthy 
father,  and  who,  moreover,  are  of  such 
virtue  and  piety  as  I  doubt  not  would 
move  them  rather  to  give  thee  an  ex- 
ample how  to  suffer  the  loss  of  all 
things  for  Christ  his  sake  than  to 
offend  him  by  a  contrary  disposition. 
I  do  write  to  my  good  brother  by  the 
same  convenience  to  yield  him  and 
my  sister  humble  thanks  for  their 
great  kindness  to  me  in  thee,  and  send 
this  written  in  haste  ;  for  I  fear  I  shall 
not  often  have  means  hereafter.  There- 
fore I  desire  Almighty  God  to  protect, 
bless,  and  establish  thee.  So  in  haste, 
and  in  visceribus  Christi,  adieu." 

The  lively  joy  I  received  from  this 
letter  was  greater  than  I  can  rehearse, 
for  I  had  now  no  longer  before  my 
eves  the  sorrowful  visioi]  of  my  dear 
father  with  none  to  tend  and  comfort 
him  in  his  wanderings ;  and  no  less 
was  my  contentment  that  Edmund,  my 
dearly-loved  playmate,  was  now  with- 
in reach  of  his  good  instructions,  and 
free  to  follow  that  which  I  was  per- 
suaded his  conscience  had  been  prompt- 
ing him  to  seek  since  he  had  attained 
the  age  of  reason. 

I  note  not  down  in  this  history  the 
many  visits  I  paid  to  the  Charter 
House  that  autumn,  except  to  notice 
the  growing  care  Lady  Surrey  did  take 
to  supply  the  needs  of  prisoners  and 
poor  people,  and  how  tliis  brought  her 
into  frequent  occasions  of  discourse 
with  Mistress  Ward  and  Muriel,  who 
nevertheless,  as  I  also  had  care  to  ob- 
serve, kept  these  interviews  secret, 
which  might  have  caused  suspicion  in 
those  who,  albeit  Catholic,  were  ill- 
disposed  to  adventure  the  loss  of  worldly 
advantages  by  the  profession  of  what 
Protestants  do  term  perverse  and  open 


papistry.  Kate  and  Polly  were  of  this 
way  of  thinking — ^pnidence  was  ever 
the  word  with  them  when  talk  of  re- 
ligion was  ministered  in  their  presence  5 
and  they  would  not  keep  as  much  as  n 
prayer-book  in  their  chambers  for  fear 
of  evil  results.  They  were  sometimes 
very  urgent  with  their  father  for  to 
suffer  them  to  attend  Protestant  ser- 
vice, which  they  said  would  not  hinder 
them  from  hearing  mass  at  convenient 
times,  and  saying  such  prayers  as  they 
listed ;  and  Polly  the  more  so  that  a 
young  gentleman  of  good  birth  and 
high  breeding,  who  conformed  to  the 
times,  had  become  a  suitor  for  her  hand, 
and  was  very  strenuous  with  her  on 
the  necessity  of  such  compliance,  which 
nevertheless  her  father  would  not 
allow  of.  Much  company  came  to  the 
house,  both  Protestant  and  Catholic ; 
for  my  aunt,  who  was  sick  at  other 
times,  did  greatly  mend  toward  the 
evening.  When  I  was  first  in  London 
for  some  weeks,  she  kept  me  with  her 
at  such  times  in  the  parlor,  and  en- 
couraged me  to  discourse  with  the  vis- 
itors ;  for  she  said  I  had  a  forwardness 
and  vivacity  of  speech  which,  if  prac- 
tised in  conversation,  would  in  time 
obtain  for  me  as  great  a  reputation  of 
wit  as  Polly  ever  enjoyed.  I  was  no- 
thing loth  to  study  in  this  new  school, 
and  not  slow  to  improve  in  it.  At  the 
same  time  I  gave  myself  greatly  to  the 
reading  of  such  books  as  I  found  in 
my  cousins'  chambers  ;  amongst  which 
were  some  M.  de  la  Motte  had  lent  to 
Polly,  marvellous  witty  and  entertain- 
ing, such  as  Les  Nouvellcs  de  la  Reine 
de  Navarre  and  the  Cents  Histoires 
tragiques  ;  and  others  done  in  English 
out  of  French  by  Mr.  Thomas  Fortes- 
cue  ;  and  a  poem,  writ  by  one  Mr. 
Edmund  Spenser,  very  beautiful,  and 
wliich  did  so  much  bewitch  me,  that  I 
was  wont  to  rise  in  the  night  to  read 
it  by  the  light  of  the  moon  at  my  case- 
ment window  ;  and  the  J/J/-60  d  Arthur^ 
which  Mr.  Hubert  Rookwood  had 
vv'illed  me  to  read,  whom  I  met  at  Bed- 
ford, and  which  so  lilled  my  head  with 
fantastic  images  and  imagined  scenes, 
that  I  did,  as  it  were,  fall  in  love  with  ^ 


h 


66 


Constaiwe  Sherwood, 


Sir  Launcelot,  and  would  blush  if  his 
name  were  but  mentioned,  and  wax  as 
angry  if  his  fame  were  questioned 
as  if  he  had  been  a  living  man,  and  I 
in  a  foolish  manner  fond  of  him. 

This  continued  for  some  little  time, 
and  methinks,  had  it  proceeded  further, 
I  should  have  received  much  damage 
from  a  mode  of  life  with  so  little  of 
■disciphne  in  it,  and  so  great  incite- 
ments to  faults  and  folUes  which  my 
nature  was  prone  to,  but  which  my 
conscience  secretly  reproved.  And 
among  the  many  reasons  I  have  to  be 
thankful  to  Mistress  Ward,  that  never- 
to-be-forgotten  friend,  whose  care  re- 
strained me  in  these  dangerous  courses, 
partly  by  compulsion  through  means 
of  her  influence  with  my  aunt  and  her 
husband,  and  partly  by  such  admoni- 
tions and  counsel  as  she  favored  me 
with,  I  reckon  amongst  the  greatest 
that,  at  an  age  when  the  will  is  weak, 
albeit  the  impulses  be  good,  she  lent  a 
helping  hand  to  the  superior  part  of 
my  soul  to  surmount  the  evil  tenden- 
cies which  bad  example  on  the  one 
hand,  and  weak  indulgence  on  the 
other,  fostered  in  me,  whose  virtuous 
inclinations  had  been,  up  to  that  time, 
hedged  in  by  the  strong  safeguards  of 
parental  watchfulness.  She  procured 
that  I  should  not  tarry,  save  for  brief 
and  scanty  spaces  of  time,  in  my  aunt's 
parlor  when  she  had  visitors,  and  so 
contrived  that  it  should  be  when  she 
herself  was  present,  who,  by  wholesome 
checks  and  studied  separation  from  the 
rest  of  the  company,  reduced  my  for- 
wardness with  just  restraints  such  as 
became  my  age.  And  when  she  dis- 
covered what  books  I  read,  oh,  with 
what  fervent  and  strenuous  speech  she 
drov.c  into  my  soul  the  edge  of  a  salu- 
tarj^  remorse  ;  with  what  tearful  eyes 
and  pleading  voice  she  brought  before 
me  the  memory  of  my  mother's  care 
and  my  father's  love,  which  had  ever 
kept  me  from  drinking  such  empoisoned 
•draughts  from  the  well-springs  of  cor- 
ruption which  in  our  days  books  of  en- 
tertainment too  often  prove,  and  if  not 
altogether  bad,  yet  be  such  as  vitiate 
the  palate  and  destroy  the  appetite  for 


higher  and  purer  kinds  of  mental  sus- 
tenance. Sharp  was  her  correction, 
but  withal  so  seasoned  with  tender- 
ness, and  a  grief  the  keenness  of  which 
I  could  discern  was  heightened  by  the 
thought  that  my  two  elder  cousins 
(one  time  her  pupils)  should  be  so 
drawn  aside  by  the  world  and  its 
pleasures  as  to  forget  their  pious  hab- 
its, and  minister  to  others  the  means 
of  such  injury  as  their  own  souls  had 
sustained,  that  every  word  she  uttered 
seemed  to  sink  into  my  heart  as  if  writ 
with  a  pen  of  fire  ;  and  mostly  when 
she  thus  concluded  her  discourse : 

"  There  hath  been  times,  Constance, 
when  men,  yea  and  women  also,  might 
play  the  I'ool  for  a  while,  without  so 
great  danger  as  now,  and  dally  with 
idle  folly  like  children  who  do  sport  on 
a  smooth  lawn  nigh  to  a  running 
stream,  under  their  parents'  eyes,  wlio, 
if  their  feet  do  but  slip,  are  prompt  to 
retrieve  them.  But  such  days  are 
gone  by  for  the  Catholics  of  this  land. 
I  would  have  thee  to  bear  in  mind 
that  'tis  no  common  virtue — no  con- 
venient religion — faces  the  rack,  the 
dungeon,  and  tli,c  rope ;  that  wanton 
tales  and  light  verses  are  no  viaticum 
for  a  journey  beset  with  such  perils. 
And  thou — thou  least  of  all — whose 
gentle  mother,  as  thou  well  knowest, 
died  of  a  broken  heart  from  the  fear 
to  betray  her  faith — thou,  whose  father 
doth  even  now  gird  himself  for  a  fight, 
where  to  win  is  to  die  on  a  scaffold — 
shouldst  scorn  to  omit  such  prepai'a- 
tion  as  may  befit  thee  to  live,  if  it  so 
please  God,  or  to  die,  if  such  be  his 
will,  a  true  member  of  his  holy  Catho- 
lic Church.  O  Constance,  it  doth 
grieve  me  to  the  heart  that  thou 
shouldst  so  much  as  once  have  risen 
from  thy  bed  at  night  to  feed  thy  mind 
with  the  vain  words  of  profane  writers, 
in  place  of  nurturing  thy  soul  by  such 
reasonable  exercises  and  means  as  God, 
through  the  teaching  of  his  Church, 
doth  provide  for  the  spiritual  grow.h 
of  his  children,  and  by  prayer  and  pen- 
ance make  ready  for  coming  conflicts. 
Bethink  thee  of  the  many  holy  priests, 
yea  and  laymen  also,  who  be  in  uneasy 


Constance  Sherwood. 


67 


dungeons  at  tlils  time,  lying  on  filthy 
straw,  with  chains  on  their  bruised 
limbs,  but  lately  racked  and  tormented 
for  their  religion,  whilst  thou  didst 
offend  God  by  such  wanton  conduct. 
Count  up  the  times  thou  hast  thus 
offended ;  and  so  many  times  rise  in 
the  night,  my  good  child,  and  say  the 
psalm  'Miserere,'  through  which  we 
do  especially  entreat  forgiveness  for 
our  sins." 

I  cast  myself  in  her  arms,  and  with 
many  bitter  tears  lamented  my  folly  ; 
and  did  promise  her  then,  and,  I  thank 
God,  ever  after  did  keep  that  promise, 
whilst  I  abode  under  the  same  roof 
with  her,  to  read  no  books  but  such  as 
she  should  warrant  me  to  peruse. 
Some  days  after  she  procured  Mr. 
Congleton's  consent,  who  also  went 
with  us,  to  carry  me  to  the  Marshalsea, 
whither  she  had  free  access  at  that 
time  by  reason  of  her  acquaintanceship 
with  the  gaoler's  wife,  who,  when  a 
maid,  had  been  a  servant  in  her  family, 
and  who,  having  been  once  Catholic, 
did  willingly  assist  such  prisoners  as 
came  there  for  their  religion.  There 
we  saw  Mr.  Hart,  who  hath  been  this 
long  while  confined  in  a  dark  cell,  with 
nothing  but  boards  to  lie  on  till  Mistress 
Ward  gave  him  a  counterpane,  which 
she  concealed  under  her  shawl,  and  the 
gaoler  was  prevailed  on  by  his  wife  not 
to  take  from  him.  He  was  cruelly  tor- 
tured some  time  since,  and  condemned 
to  die  on  the  same  day  as  Mr.  Luke  Kir- 
by  and  some  others  on  a  like  charge,  that 
he  did  deny  the  queen's  supremacy  in 
spiritual  matters ;  but  he  was  taken  off 
the  sledge  and  returned  to  prison.  He 
did  take  it  very  quietly  and  patiently ; 
and  when  Mr.  Congleton  expressed  a 
hope  he  might  soon  be  released  from 
prison,  he  smiled  and  said  : 

"  My  good  friend,  my  crosses  are 
light  and  easy  ;  and  the  being  deprived 
of  all  ear  Lilly  comfort  affords  a  heavenly 
joy,  which  maketh  my  prison  happy, 
my  coniineraent  merciful,  my  solitude 
lull  of  blessings.  To  God,  therefore, 
be  all  praise,  honor,  and  glory,  for  so  un- 
speakable a  benefit  bestowed  upon  his 
poor,  wretched,  and  unworthy  servant." 


So  did  he  comfort  those  who  were 
more  grieved  for  him  than  he  for  him- 
self; and  each  in  turn  we  did  confess  ; 
and  after  I  had  disburdened  my  con- 
science in  such  wise  that  he  perceived 
the  temper  of  my  mind,  and  where  to 
apply  remedies  to  the  dangers  the  na- 
ture of  which  his  clearsightedness  did 
foresee,  he  thus  addressed  me  : 

"  The  world,  my  dear  daughter, 
soon  begins  to  seem  insipid,  and  all  its 
pleasures  grow  bitter  as  gall ;  all  the 
fine  shows  and  delights  it  affords  ap- 
pear empty  and  good  for  nothing  to 
such  as  have  tasted  the  happiness  of 
conversing  with  Christ,  though  it  be 
amidst  toi-ments  and  tribulations,  yea 
and  in  the  near  approach  of  death  it- 
self. This  joy  so  penetrates  the  soul, 
so  elevates  the  spirit,  so  changes  the 
affections,  that  a  prison  seems  noi:  a 
prison  but  a  paradise,  death  a  goal  long- 
time desired,  and  the  torments  which 
do  accompany  it  jewels  of  great  pricf. 
Take  with  thee  these  words,  which  bo 
the  greatest  treasure  and  the  raros 
lesson  for  these  times  :  '  He  that  love  I ; 
his  life  in  this  world  shall  lose  it,  an  1 
he  that  hateth  it  shall  find  it ;'  and  re- 
member the  devil  is  always  upon  t!i" 
watch.  Be  you  also  watchful.  Pra*- 
you  for  me.  I  have  a  great  confiden  .*e 
that  we  shall  see  one  another  in  heave  ;i 
if  you  keep  inviolable  the  word  you 
have  given  to  God  to  be  true  to  his 
Catholic  Church  and  obedient  to  i:s 
precepts,  and  he  gives  me  the  grace  to 
attain  unto  that  same  blessed  end." 

These  words,  like  the  sower's  seed, 
fell  into  a  field  where  thorns  oftentimes 
threatened  to  choke  their  effect;  but 
persecution,  when  it  arose,  consumed 
the  thorns  as  with  fire,  and  the  plant, 
which  would  have  withered  in  stony 
ground,  bore  fruit  in  a  prepared  soil. 

As  we  left  the  prison,  it  did  happen 
that,  passing  by  the  gaoler's  lodge,  I 
saw  him  sitting  at  a  table  drinking  ale 
with  one  whose  back  was  to  the  door. 
A  suspicion  came  over  me,  the  most 
unlikely  in  the  world,  for  it  was  against 
all  credibility,  and  I  had  not  seen  so 
much  as  that*  person's  face  ;  but  in  the 
sliapc  of  his  head  and  the  manner  0/ 


68 


Constance  Sherwood, 


his  sitting,  but  for  a  moment  observed, 
there  was  a  resemblance  to  Edmund 
Genings,  the  thought  of  which  I  could 
not  shake  off.  When  we  were  walk- 
ing home,  Mr.  Congleton  said  Mr. 
Hart  ht^d  told  him  that  a  short  time 
back  a  gentleman  had  been  seized, 
and  committed  to  close  confinement, 
whom  he  believed,  though  he  had  not 
attained  to  the  certainty  thereof,  to  be 
Mr.  Willisden ;  and  if  it  were  so,  that 
much  trouble  might  ensue  to  many 
recusants,  by  reason  of  that  gentleman 
having  dealt  in  matters  of  great  im- 
portance to  such  persons  touching 
lands  and  other  affairs  whereby  their 
fortunes  and  maybe  their  lives  might 
be  compromised.  On  hearing  of  this, 
I  straightway  conceived  a  sudden  fear 
lest  it  should  be  my  father  and  not  Mr. 
Willisden  was  confined  in  that  prison ; 
and  the  impression  I  had  received 
touching  the  youth  who  was  at  table 
with  the  gaoler  grew  so  strong  in  con- 
sequence, that  all  sorts  of  fears  founded 
thereon  ran  through  my  mind,  for  I 
liad  often  heard  how  persons  did  de- 
ceive recusants  by  feigning  themselves 
to  be  their  friends,  and  then  did  de- 
nounce them  to  the  council,  and  pro- 
cured their  arrest  and  oftentimes  their 
condemnation  by  distorting  and  false 
swearing  touching  the  speech  they 
held  with  them.  One  Eliot  in  partic- 
ular, who  was  a  man  of  great  modesty 
and  ingenuity  of  countenance,  so  as 
to  defy  suspicion  (but  a  very  wicked 
man  in  more  ways  than  one,  as  has 
been  since  proved),  who  pretended  to 
be  Catholic,  and  when  he  did  suspect 
any  to  be  a  Jesuit,  or  a  seminary  priest, 
or  only  a  recusant,  he  would  straight- 
way enter  into  discourse  with  him,  and 
in  an  artful  manner  cause  him  to  betray 
himself;  whereupon  he  was  not  slow 
to  throw  off  the  mask,  whereby  several 
had  been  already  brought  to  the  rope. 
And  albeit  I  would  not  credit  that 
Edmund  should  be  such  a  one,  the 
rvil  of  the  times  was  so  great  that  my 
neart  did  misgive  me  concerning  him, 
if  indeed  he  was  the  youth  whom  I 
had  espied  on  such  fiimiliar  terms  with 
that  ruffianly  gaoler.     I  had  no  rest 


for  some  days,  lacking  the  means  to 
discover  the  truth  of  that  suspicion; 
for  Mrs.  Ward,  to  whom  I  did  impart 
it,  dared  not  adventure  again  that 
week  to  the  Marshalsea,  by  reason  of 
the  gaoler's  wife  having  charged  her 
not  to  come  frequently,  for  that  her 
husband  had  suddenly  suspected  her 
to  be  a  recusant,  and  would  by  no  means 
allow  of  her  visits  to  the  prisoners ; 
but  that  when  he  was  drunk  she  could 
sometimes  herself  get  his  keys  and  let 
her  in,  but  not  too  often.  Mr.  Congle- 
ton would  have  it  the  prisoner  must  be 
Mr.  Willisden  and  no  other,  and  took 
no  heed  of  my  fears,  which  he  said  had 
no  reasonable  grounds,  as  I  had  not  so 
much  as  seen  the  features  of  the  youth 
I  took  to  be  my  father's  page.  But  I 
could  by  no  means  be  satisfied,  and 
wept  very  much  ;  and  I  mind  me  how, 
in  the  midst  of  my  tears  that  evening, 
my  eyes  fell  on  the  frontispiece  of  a 
volume  of  the  Morte  d' Arthur  which 
had  been  loosened  when  the  book  was 
in  my  chamber,  and  in  which  was  a 
picture  of  Sir  Launcelot,  the  present 
mirror  of  my  fancy.  I  had  pinned  it  to 
my  curtain,  and  jewelled  it  as  a  treas- 
ure and  fund  of  foolish  musings,  even 
after  yielding  up,  with  promise  to 
read  no  more  therein,  the  book  which 
had  once  held  it.  And  thus  were 
kept  alive  the  fantastic  in>aglnings 
wherewith  I  clothed  a  creature  con- 
ceived in  a  writer's  brain,  whose  nobil- 
ity was  the  offspring  of  his  thoughts 
and  the  continual  entertainment  of 
mine  own.  But,  oh,  how  just  did  I 
now  find  the  words  of  a  virtuous  friend, 
and  how  childish  my  folly,  when  the 
true  sharp  edge  of  present  fear  dis- 
persed these  vapory  clouds,  even  as 
the  keen  blast  of  a  north  wind  doth 
drive  away  a  noxious  mist!  The 
sight  of  the  dismal  dungeon  that  day 
visited,  the  pallid  features  of  that  true 
confessor  therein  immured,  his  soul- 
piercing  words,  and  the  apprehensions 
which  were  wringing  my  heart — ban- 
ished of  a  sudden  an  idle  dream  en- 
gendered by  vain  readings  and  vainer 
musings,  and  Sir  Launcelot  held  hence- 
forward no  higher,  or  not  so  high,  a 


Constance  Sherwood, 


69 


place  In  my  esteem  as  the  good  Sir 
Guy  of  Warwick,  or  the  brave  Hector 
de  Valence. 

A  day  or  two  after,  my  Lady  Surrey 
sent  her  coach  for  me ;  and  I  found  her 
in  her  dressing-room  seated  on  a  couch 
with  her  waiting-women  and  Mistress 
Milicent  around  her,  who  were  display- 
ing a  great  store  of  rich  suits  and  jew- 
els and  such-like  gear  drawn  from 
wardrobes  and  closets,  the  doors  of 
which  were  thrown  open,  and  little 
Mistress  Bess  was  on  tiptoe  on  a  stool 
afore  a  mirror  with  a  diamond  neck- 
lace on,  ribbons  flaring  about  her  head, 
and  a  fan  of  ostrich-feathers  in  her 
hand. 

"  Ah,  sweet  one,''  said  my  lady,  w^hen 
I  came  in,  "  thou  must  needs  be  sur- 
prised at  this  show  of  bravery,  which 
ill  consorts  with  the  mourning  of  our 
present  garb  or  the  grief  of  our  hearts ; 
but,  i'  faith,  Constance,  strange  things 
do  come  to  pass,  and  such  as  I  would 
fain  hinder  if  I  could." 

"Make  ready  thine  ears  for  great 
news,  good  Constance,"  cried  Bess, 
running  toward  me  encumbered  with 
her  finery,  and  tumbling  over  sundry 
pieces  of  head-gear  in  her  way,  to  the 
waiting-woman's  no  small  discomfiture. 
"  The  queen's  majesty  doth  visit  upon 
next  Sunday  the  Earl  and  Countess  of 
Surrey;  and  as  her  highness  cannot 
endure  the  sight  of  dool,  they  and  their 
household  must  needs  put  it  off  and 
array  themselves  in  their  costliest 
suits ;  and  Nan  is  to  put  on  her  choic- 
est jewels,  and  my  Lady  Bess  must  be 
grand  too,  to  salute  the  queen." 

"  Hush,  Bessy,"  said  my  lady ;  and 
leading  me  into  the  adjoining  chamber, 
*'  'tis  hard,"  quoth  she,  holding  my  hand 
in  hers, — "  'tis  hard  when  his  grace  is 
in  the  Tower  and  in  disgrace  with  her 
majesty,  and  only  six  weeks  since  our 
Moll  died,  that  she  must  needs  visit 
this  house,  where  there  be  none  to  en- 
tertain her  highness  but  his  grace's 
poor  children  ;  'tis  hard,  Constance,  to 
be  constrained  to  kiss  the  hand  which 
threatens  his  life  w^ho  gave  my  lord 
his,  and  mostly  to  smile  at  the  queen's 
jesting,  which  my  Lord  Arundel  saith 


we  must  of  all  things  take  heed  to  ob- 
serve, for  that  she  as  little  can  endure 
dool  in  the  face  as  in  the  dress." 

A  few  tears  fell  from  those  sweet 
eyes  upon  my  hand,  which  she  still 
held,  and  I  said,  "  Comfort  you,  my 
sweet  lady.  It  must  needs  be  that  her 
majesty  doth  intend  favor  to  his  grace 
through  this  visit.  Her  highness  would 
never  be  minded  to  do  so  much  honor 
to  the  children  if  she  did  not  purpose 
mercy  to  the  father." 

"  I  would  fain  believe  it  were  so," 
said  the  countess,  thoughtfully ;  "  but 
my  Lord  Arundel  and  my  Lady  Lum- 
ley  hold  not,  I  fear,  the  same  opinion. 
And  I  do  hear  from  them  that  his  grace 
is  much  troubled  thereat,  and  hath  writ- 
ten to  the  Earl  of  Leicester  and  my 
Lord  Burleigh  to  lament  the  queen's 
determination  to  visit  his  son,  who  is 
not  of  age  to  receive  her."* 

"  And  doth  my  Lord  of  Surrey  take 
the  matter  to  heart  ?" 

"  My  lord's  disposition  doth  incllisc 
him  to  conceive  hope  where  others  f  (;o 
reason  to  fear,"  she  replied.  '•  He 
saith  he  is  glad  her  majesty  shoii  <I 
come  to  this  house,  and  that  he  v.lil 
take  occasion  to  petition  her  grace  i .  j 
release  his  father  from  the  Tower  ; 
and  he  hath  drawn  up  an  address  to 
that  effect,  w^hich  is  marvellous  v/e";l 
expressed;  and,  since  'tis  written,  h(; 
makes  no  more  doubt  that  her  majestj- 
will  accede  to  it  than  if  the  upshot  was 
not  yet  to  come,  but  already  past.  And 
he  hath  set  himself  with  a  skill  beyond 
his  years,  and  altogether  wonderful  in 
one  so  young,  to  prepare  all  things  for 
the  queen's  reception;  so  that  when 
his  grandfather  did  depute  my  Lord 
Berkeley  and  my  Lady  Lumley  to  as- 
sist us  (he  himself  being  too  sick  to  go 
out  of  his  house)  in  the  ordering  of  the 
collation  in  the  banqueting-room,  and 
the  music  wherewith  to  greet  her  high- 
ness on  her  arrival,  as  well  as  the  cere- 
monial to  be  observed  during  her  visit, 
they  did  find  that  my  lord  had  so  dis- 

*  Calendar  of  State  Papers,  Domestic  Series, 
1547  to  1580:  "'Duke  of  Norfolli  to  the  Earl  of 
Leicester  and  Lord  Burleigh :  laments  the 
queen's  determination  to  visit  his  son's  house, 
who  is  not  of  age  to  receive  her." 


70 


Constance  Sherwood, 


posedly  and  with  so  great  taste  or- 
dained the  rules  to  he  observed,  and 
the  proper  setting  forth  of  all  things, 
that  little  remained  for  them  to  do. 
And  he  will  have  me  to  be  richly 
dressed,  and  to  j)ut  on  the  jewels  which 
were  his  mother's,  which,  since  her 
death,  have  not  been  worn  by  the  two 
Duchesses  of  Norfolk  which  did  suc- 
ceed her.  Ah  me.  Mistress  Constance, 
I  often  wish  my  lord  and  I  had  been 
born  far  from  the  court,  in  some  quiet 
country  place,  where  there  are  no 
queens  to  entertain,  and  no  plots  which 
do  bring  nobles  into  so  great  dangers." 

"Alack,"  I  cried,  "dear  lady,  'tis 
not  the  highest  in  the  land  that  be 
alone  to  suffer.  Their  troubles  do 
stand  forth  in  men's  eyes ;  and  when 
a  noble  head  is  imperilled  all  the  world 
doth  know  of  it ;  but  blood  is  spilt  in 
this  land,  and  torments  endured,  which 
no  pen  doth  chronicle,  and  of  which 
scant  mention  is  made  in  palaces." 

"  There  is  a  passion  in  thy  speech," 
my  lady  said,  "  which  betrayeth  a  se- 
cret uneasiness  of  heart.  Hast  thou 
had  ill  news,  my  Constance  ?" 

"  No  news, "  I  answered,  "  but  that 
which  my  fears  do  invent  and  whis- 
per;" and  then  I  related  to  her  the 
cause  of  my  disturbance,  which  she 
sought  to  allay  by  kind  words,  which 
nevertheless  failed  to  comfort  me. 

Before  I  left  she  did  propose  I  should 
come  to  the  Charter  House  on  the 
morning  of  the  queen's  visit,  and  bring 
Mistress  Ward  and  my  cousins  also,  as 
it  would  pleasure  them  to  stand  in  the 
gallery  and  witness  the  entertainment, 
and  albeit  my  heart  was  heavy,  me- 
thought  it  was  an  occasion  not  to  be 
overpast  to  feast  my  eyes  with  the 
Bight  of  majesty,  and  to  behold  that 


great  queen  who  doth  hold  in  her 
hands  her  subjects'  lives,  and  who,  if 
she  do  but  nod,  like  the  god  of  the 
heathen  which  books  do  speak  of,  such 
terrible  effects  ensue,  greater  than  can 
be  thought  of ;  and  so  I  gave  my  lady 
mine  humble  thanks,  and  also  for  that 
she  did  gift  me  with  a  dainty  hat  and 
a  well-embroidered  suit  to  wear  on  that 
day  ;  which,  when  Kate  saw,  she  fell 
into  a  wonderful  admiration  of  the  pat- 
tern, and  did  set  about  to  get  it  copied 
afore  the  day  of  the  royal  visit  to 
Howard  House.  As  I  returned  to 
Holborn  in  my  lady's  coach  there  was 
a  great  crowd  in  the  Cornhill,  and  the 
passage  for  a  while  arrested  by  the 
number  of  persons  on  their  way  to 
what  is  now  called  the  Royal  Ex- 
change, which  her  majesty  was  to  visit 
in  the  evening.  I  sat  very  quietly  with 
mine  eyes  fixed  on  the  foot-passengers, 
not  so  much  looking  at  their  faces  as 
watching  their  passage,  which,  like 
the  running  of  a  river,  did  seem  end- 
less. But  at  last  it  somewhat  slack- 
ened, and  the  coach  moved  on,  when, 
at  the  corner  of  a  street,  nigh  unto  a 
lamp  over  a  shop,  which  did  throw  a 
light  on  his  face,  I  beheld  Edmund 
Genings.  Oh,  how  my  heart  did  beat, 
and  with  what  a  loud  cry  I  did  call  to 
the  running  footmen  to  stop  !  But  the 
noise  of  the  street  was  so  great  they 
did  not  hear  me,  and  I  saw  him  turn 
and  pursue  his  way  down  another 
street  toward  the  river.  My  good 
uncle,  when  he  heard  I  had  verily  seen 
my  father's  new  page  in  the  city,  gave 
more  heed  to  my  suspicions,  and  did 
promise  to  go  himself  unto  the  Mar- 
shalsea  on  the  next  day,  and  seek  to 
verify  the  name  of  the  prisoner  Mr. 
Hart  had  made  mention  of. 


Constance  Sherwood. 


CIIAPTEU    IX, 

On  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Coii- 
gleton  called  me  into  the  library 
1'rom  the  garden,  wliere  I  was 
gatliering  for  Muriel  a  few  of 
such  liardy  flowers  as  had  sur- 
vived the  early  frost.  She  was 
wont  to  carry  them  with  her  to 
tlie  prisons ;  for  it  was  one  of 
lier  kindly  apprehensions  of  the 
sufferings  of  others  to  divide  the 
comfort  wherewith  things  seem- 
ingly indifferent  do  affect  those 
that  he  shut  out  of  all  kinds 
of  enjoyments.;  and  where  a  less 
tender  nature  should  have  been 
(content  to  provide  necessaries, 
she,  through  a  more  delicate  ac- 
quaintanceship and  light  touch, 
as  it  were,  on  the  strings  of 
the  human  heart,  ever  bethought 
herself  when  it  was  possible  to 
minister  if  but  one  minute's 
])leasure  to  those  who  had  often 
Avell-nigh  forgotten  the  very  taste 
of  it.  And  she  hath  told  me 
touching  that  point  of  flowers, 
liow  it  had  once  happened  that 
the  scent  of  some  violets  she  had 
concealed  in  her  bosom  with  a 
like  intent  did  move  to  tears  an 
aged  man,  who  for  many  years 
past  had  not  seen,  no  not  so 
much  as  one  green  leaf  in  his 
prison  ;  which  tears,  he  said,  did 
him  more  good  than  anything  else 
which  could  have  happened  to 
him. 

I  threw  down  on  a  bench  the 
chrysanthemums  and  other  bold 
blossoms  1  had  gathered,  and,  run- 
ning into  the  house,  opened  the 
door  of  the  library,  where,  lo  and 
behold,  to  my  no  small  agitation 
and  amaze,  I  discovered  Edmund 


Genings,   who   cried    out  r.s   I    en- 
tered : 

"  O  my  dear  master's  daughter 
and  well-i*emembered  playmate  !  I 
do  greet  you  with  all  mine  heart ; 
and  I  thank  God  that  I  see  you 
in  so  good  a  condition,  as  I  may 
with  infinite  gladness  make  report 
of  to  your  good  father,  who 
through  me  doth  impart  to  you 
his  paternal  blessing  and  most 
affectionate  commendations." 

"  Edmund,"  I  cried,  scarce  able 
to  speak  for  haste,  "  is  he  iu  Lon- 
don ?  is  he  in  prison  ?"' 

"  No,  forsooth,"  quoth  Mr,  Con- 
gleton. 

"  No,  verily,"  quoth  Edmund  ; 
both  at  the  same  time. 

"  Thy  fears,  silly  wench,"  added 
the  first,  "  have  run  away  with  thy 
w^its,  and  I  do  counsel  thee  another 
time  to  be  at  more  ])ains  to  re- 
strain them ;  for  when  there  be 
so  many  occasions  to  be  afraid 
of  veritable  evils,  'tis  but  sorry 
waste  to  spend  fears  on  jd resent 
fancies." 

By  which  I  did  conjecture  my 
uncle  not  to  be  greatly  j^leased 
with  Edmund's  comino:  to  liis 
house,  and  noticed  that  he  did 
fidget  in  his  chair  and  ever  and 
anon  glanced  at  the  windows  which 
opened  on  the  garden,  in  an  uneasy 
manner 

"  And  wherefore  art  thou,  then,  . 
in  London  ?"  I  asked  of  Edmund  ;  , 
who  thus  answered : 

"  Because  Mr.  James  Fenn,  who 
is  also  called  Williesden,  was  taken 
and    committed  close   prisoner   to 


72 


Constance  Slierwood, 


the  Marslialsca  a  short  tira'c  back  ; 
which,  when  my  dear  master  did 
hear  of,  he  was  greatly  disturbed 
and  tnrmoiled  thereby,  by  reason 
of  weighty  matters  having  passed 
betwixt  him  and  that  gentleman 
touching  lands  belonging  to  re- 
cusants, and  that  extraordinary 
damage  was  likely  to  ensue  to  se- 
veral persons  of  great  merit,  if  he 
could  not  advertise  him  in  time 
how  to  answer  to  those  accusa- 
tions which  would  be  laid  against 
him;  and  did  seek  if  by  any 
means  he  could  have  access  to 
him  ;  but  could  find  no  hope  there- 
of without  imminent  danger  not  to 
himself  only,  but  to  many  beside, 
if  he  had  come  to  London  and  been 
recognized." 

"  Wherein  he  did  judge  right- 
ly," quoth  my  uncle ;  and  then 
Edmund — 

"  So,  seeing  my  master  and 
others  of  a  like  faith  with  him 
in  so  great  straits  touching  their 
property  and  their  lives  also,  I 
did  most  earnestly  crave  his  li- 
cense, being  unknown  and  of  no 
account  in  the  world,  and  so  least 
to  be  suspected,  to  undertake  this 
enterprise,  which  he  could  not  him- 
self perform ;  which  at  last  he  did 
grant  me,  albeit  not  without  re- 
luctance. And  thus  resolved  I 
came  to  town." 

"  And  has  your  hope  been  frus- 
trated ?"  Mr.  Congleton  asked.  To 
whom  Edmund — 

*'  I  thank  God,  the  end  hath  an- 
swered my  expectations.  I  com- 
mitted the  cause  to  him  to  whom 
nothing  is  impossible,  and  deter- 
mined,   like    a   trusty   servant,   to 


do  all  that  in  me  did  lie  thereuntc- 
And  thinking  on  no  other  mean?. 
I  took  up  my  abode  near  to  th" 
prison,  hoping  in  time  to  get  ne 
quainted  with  the  keeper ;  for 
which  purpose  I  had  to  drink 
with  him  each  day,  standing  tlie 
cost,  besides  paying  him  well, 
which  I  was  furnished  Avitli  llio 
means  to  do.  At  last  I  did,  by 
his  means,  procure  to  see  l\h\ 
Fenn,  and  not  only  come  to  speak- 
to  him,  but  to  have  access  to 
his  cell  three  or  four  times  witli 
pen  and  ink  and  paper  to  write 
his  mind.  So  I  have  furnished 
him  with  the  information  he  had 
need  of,  and  likewise  brought 
away  with  me  sucli  answers  to 
my  master's  questions  as  shouhl 
solve  his  doubts  how  to  proceed 
in  the  aforesaid  matters." 

"  God  reward  thee,  my  goo*! 
youth,"  Mr.  Congleton  said,  "  for 
this  thing  which  thou  hast  done  ; 
for  verily,  under  the  laws"  lately 
set  forth,  recusants  be  in  such 
condition  that,  if  not  death,  beg- 
gary doth  stare  them  in  the  face, 
and  no  remedy  thereunto  except 
by  such  assistance  as  well-disposed 
Protestants  be  willing  to  yield  to 
them." 

"  And  where  doth  my  father 
stay  at  this  present  time  ? "  I 
asked.     And  Edmund  answered  : 

"  Not  so  much  as  to  you,  Mis- 
tress Constance,  am  I  free  to 
reply  to  that  question  ;  for  when 
I  left,  *  Edmund,'  quoth  my  mas- 
ter, *  it  is  a  part  of  prudence  in 
these  days  to  guard  those  that  be 
dear  to  us  from  dangers  ensuinLr 
on  what  men  call  our  perve»>i- 
ty ;    and  as  these  new  laws  enact 


Constance  Sherwood. 


73 


that  lie  which  knowcth  any  one  which 
doth  hear  mass,  be  it  ever  so  private- 
ly, or  suffers  a  priest  to  absolve  him, 
or  performs  any  other  action  apper- 
taining to  Catholic  religion,  and  doth 
not  discover  him  before  some  public 
magistrate  within  the  space  of  twenty 
days  next  following,  shall  suffer  the  pun- 
ishment of  high  treason,  than  which 
nothing  can  be  more  horrible ;  and  that 
neither  sex  nor  age  be  a  cause  of  ex- 
emption from  the  like  penalties,  so 
that  father  must  accuse  son,  and  sis- 
ter brother,  and  children  their  parents ; 
— it  is,  I  say,  a  merciful  part  to  hide 
from  our  friends  where  we  do  conceal 
ourselves,  whose  consciences  do  charge 
us  with  these  novel  crimes,  lest  theirs 
be  also  burdened  with  the  choice  either 
to  denounce  us  if  called  upon  to  testi- 
fy thereon,  or  else  to  speak  falsely. 
Therefore  I  do  charge  thee,  my  son 
Edmund'  (for  thus  indeed  doth  my 
master  term  me,  his  unworthy  ser- 
vant), '  that  thou  keep  from  my  good 
child,  and  my  dear  sister,  and  her  no 
less  dear  husband,  the  knowledge  of 
my  present,  but  indeed  ever-shift- 
ing, abode;  and  solely  inform  them, 
by  word  of  mouth,  that  I  am  in  good 
health,  and  in  very  good  heart  also, 
and  do  most  earnestly  pray  for  them, 
that  their  strength  and  patience  be 
such  as  the  times  do  require.' " 

"And  art  thou  reconciled,  Ed- 
mund ?  "  I  asked,  ever  speaking  has- 
tily and  beforehand  with  prudence. 
Mr.  Congleton  checked  me  sharply; 
whereupon,  with  great  confusion,  I  in- 
terrupted my  speech ;  but  Edmund,  al- 
beit not  in  words  yet  by  signs,  an- 
swered my  question  so  as  I  should  be 
certified  it  was  even  as  I  hoped. 
He  then  asked  if  I  should  not  be 
glad  to  write  a  letter  to  my  father, 
which  he  would  carry  to  him,  so  that 
it  was 'neither  signed  nor  addressed, 
— which  letter  I  did  sit  down  to  com- 
pose in  a  hurried  manner,  my  heart 
prompting  my  pen  to  utter  what  it 
listed,  rather  than  weighing  the  words 
in  which  those  affectionate  sentiments 
were  expressed.  Mr.  Congleton  like- 
wise did  write  to  him,  whilst  Edmund 


took  some  food,  which  he  greatly 
needed ;  for  he  had  scarce  eaten  so 
much  as  one  comfortable  meal  since 
he  had  been  in  London,  and  was  to 
ride  day  and  night  till  he  reached  his 
master.  I  wept  very  bitterly  when  he 
went  away ;  for  the  sight  of  him  re- 
called the  dear  mother  I  had  lost,  the 
sole  parent  whose  company  I  was  like- 
wise reft  of,  and  the  home  I  was  never 
like  to  see  again.  But  when  those 
tears  were  stayed,  that  which  at  the 
time  did  cause  sadness  ministered  com- 
fort in  the  retrospect,  and  relief  from 
worse  fears  made  the  present  separa- 
tion from  my  father  more  tolerable. 
And  on  the  next  Sunday,  when  I  went 
to  the  Charter  House,  with  my  cousins 
and  Mistress  Ward,  I  was  in  such 
good  cheer  that  Polly  commended  my 
prating ;  which  she  said  for  some  days 
had  been  so  stayed  that  she  had  great- 
ly feared  I  had  caught  the  infectious 
plague  of  melancholy  from  Kate,  whom 
she  vowed  did  half  kill  her  with  tlie 
sound  of  her  doleful  sighino;  since  Mr. 
Lacy  was  gone,  which  she  said  was  a 
dismal  music  brought  into  fashion  by 
love-sick  ladies,  and  such  as  she  never 
did  intend  to  practise;  "for,"  quoth 
she,  "  I  hold  care  to  be  the  worst  en- 
emy in  life ;  and  to  be  in  love  very 
dull  sport,  if  it  serve  not  to  make  one 
merry."  This  she  said  turning  to  Sir 
Ralph  Ligoldby,  the  afore-mentioned 
suitor  for  her  hand,  who  went  with  us, 
and  thereupon  cried  out,  "  Mercy  on 
us,  fair  mistress,  if  we  must  be  merry 
when  we  be  sad,  and  by  merriment 
win  a  lady's  love,  the  lack  of  which 
doth  so  take  away  merriment  that  we 
must  needs  be  sad,  and  so  lose  that 
which  should  cure  sadness  ; "  and  much 
more  he  in  that  style,  and  she  answer- 
ing and  making  sport  of  his  discourse, 
as  was  her  wont  with  all  gentlemen. 

When  we  reached  the  house,  Mrs. 
Milicent  was  awaiting  us  at  the  door 
of  the  gallery  for  to  conduct  us  to  the 
best  place  wherein  we  could  see  hei- 
majesty's  entrance.  There  were  some 
seats  there  and  other  persons  present, 
some  of  which  were  of  Polly's  acquain- 
tance, with  whom  she  did  keep  up  a 


74 


Constance  Sherwood. 


brisk  conversation,  in  which  I  had  oc- 
casion to  notice  the  sharpness  of  her 
wit,  in  which  she  did  surpass  any  wo- 
man I  liavc  since  known,  for  she  was 
never  at  a  loss  for  an  answer ;  as  when 
one  said  to  her — 

"  Truly,  you  have  no  mean  opinion 
of  yourself,  fair  mistress." 

"  As  one  shall  prize  himself,"  quoth 
she,  "  so  let  him  look  to  be  valued  by 
others." 

And  another :  "  You  tliink  yourself 
to  be  Minerva." 

Whereupon  she :  "  No,  sir,  not  when 
I  be  at  your  elbow  ; "  meaning  he  was 
no  Ulysses. 

And  when  one  gentleman  asked  her 
of  a  book,  if  she  had  read  it: 

"The  epistle,"  she  said,  "and  no 
more." 

"And  wherefore  no  more,"  quoth 
he,  "  since  that  hath  wit  in  it  ?  " 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  "  an  au- 
thor who  sets  all  his  wit  in  his  epistle 
is  like  to  make  his  book  resemble  a 
bankrupt's  doublet." 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  the  gentleman. 

"  In  this  wise,"  saith  she,  "  that  he 
sets  the  velvet  before,  though  the  back 
bo  but  of  buckram." 

"  For  my  part,"  quoth  a  foppish 
young  man,  "  I  have  thoughts  in  my 
mind  should  fill  many  volumes." 

"  Alack,  good  sir,"  cries  she,  "is  there 
no  type  good  enough  to  set  them  in  ?" 

He,  somewhat  nettled,  declares  that 
she  reads  no  books  but  of  one  sort, 
and  doats  on  Sir  Bevis  and  Owlglass, 
or  Fashion's  Mirror,  and  such  like  idle 
stuff,  wherein  he  himself  had  never 
found  so  much  as  one  word  of  profit- 
able use  or  reasonable  entertainment. 
"I  have  read  a  fable,"  she  said, 
"  which  speaks  of  a  pasture  in  which 
oxen  find  fodder,  hounds,  hares,  storks, 
lizards,  and  some  animals  nothing." 

"  To  deliver  you  my  opinion,"  said 
a  lady  who  sat  next  to  Polly's  disput- 
ant, "  I  have  no  great  esteem  for  let- 
ters in  gentlewomen.  The  greatest 
readers  be  oft  the  worst  doers." 

"Letters!"  cries  Polly;  "why, 
surely  they  be  the  most  weighty  things 
in  creation ;  for  so  much  as  the  differ- 


ence of  one  letter  mistaken  in  the  or- 
der in  which  it  should  stand  in  a  short 
sentence  doth  alter  the  expression  of 
a  man's  resolve  in  a  matter  of  life  and 
death." 

"  How  prove  you  that,  madam  ?  " 
quoth  the  lady. 

"  By  the  same  token,"  answered 
Polly,  "  that  I  once  did  hear  a  gentle- 
man say,  'I  must  go  die  a  beggar,' 
who  willed  to  say,  '  I  must  go  buy  a 
dagger.' " 

They  all  did  laugh,  and  then  some  one 
said,  "  There  was  a  witty  book  of  em- 
blems made  on  all  the  cardinals  at 
Rome,  in  which  these  scarlet  princes 
were  very  roughly  handled.  Bellar- 
mine,  for  instance,  as  a  tiger  fast 
chained  to  a  post,  and  a  scroll  proceed- 
ing from  the  beast's  mouth — '  Give  me 
my  liberty ;  you  shall  see  what  I  am.' 
I  wish,"  quoth  the  speaker,  "he 
were  let  loose  in  this  island.  The 
queen's  judges  would  soon  constrain 
him  to  eat  his  words."  , 

"  Peradventure,"  answered  Polly, 
"his  own  words  should  be  too  good 
food  for  a  recusant  in  her  majesty's 
prisons." 

"  Maybe,  madam,  you  have  tasted 
of  that  food,"  quoth  the  aforesaid  lady, 
"  that  you  be  so  well  acquainted  with 
its  qualities." 

Then  I  perceived  that  Mistress  Ward 
did  nudge  Polly  for  to  stay  her  from 
carrying  on  a  further  encounter  of 
words  on  this  subject ;  for,  as  she  did 
remind  us  afterward,  many  persons 
had  been  thrown  mto  prison  for  only 
so  much  as  a  word  lightly  spoken  in 
conversation  which  should  be  supposed 
even  in  a  remote  manner  to  infer  a  fa- 
vorable opinion  of  Catholic  religion ;  as, 
for  instance,  a  bookseller  in  Oxford,  for 
a  jest  touching  the  queen's  supremacy 
in  ecclesiastical  matters,  had  been  a 
short  time  before  arrested,  pilloried, 
whipped,  and  his  ears  nailed  to  a 
counter,  which  with  a  knife  he  had 
himself  to  cut  through  to  free  himself; 
which  maybe  had  not  been  taken  much 
notice  of,  as  nothing  singular  in  these 
days,  the  man  being  a  Catholic  and  of 
no  great  note,  but  that  mucli  talk  had 


Constance  Sherwood. 


75 


been  ministered  concerning  a  terrible 
disease  which  broke  out  immediately 
after  the  passing  of  that  sentence,  by 
which  the  judge  which  had  pronounced 
it,  the  jury,  and  many  other  persons 
concerned  in  it,  had  died  raving 
mad ;  to  the  no  small  affright  of  the 
whole  city.  I  ween,  howsoever,  no 
nudging  should  have  stopped  Polly 
Irom  talking,  which  indeed  was  a  pas- 
sion with  her,  but  that  a  burst  of  mu- 
sic at  that  time  did  announce  the 
queen's  approach,  and  we  did  all 
stand  up  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation 
to  see  her  majesty  enter. 

My  heart  did  beat  as  fast  as  the 
pendulum  of  a  clock  when  the  cries 
outside  resounded,  "  Long  live  Queen 
Ehzabeth!"  and  her  majesty's  voice 
was  distinctly  heard  answering,  "  I 
thank  you,  my  good  people  ; "  and  the 
ushers  crying  out,  "  La  Royne ! "  as 
the  great  door  was  thrown  open ; 
through  which  we  did  see  her  majesty 
alight  from  her  coach,  followed  by 
many  nobles  and  lords,  and  amongst 
ihem  one  of  her  bishops,  and  my  Lord 
and  my  Lady  Surrey,  kneeling  to  re- 
ceive her  on  the  steps,  with  a  goodly 
company  of  kinsfolks  and  friends 
around  them.  Oh,  how  I  did  note 
every  lineament  of  that  royal  lady,  of 
so  great  power  and  majesty,  that  it 
should  seem  as  if  she  were  not  made 
of  the  same  mould  as  those  of  whom 
the  Scriptures  do  say,  that  dust  they 
are,  and  to  dust  must  they  return. 
Very  majestic  did  she  appear;  her 
stature  neither  tall  nor  low,  but  her 
air  exceedingly  stately.  Her  eyes 
small  and  black,  her  face  fair,  her  nose 
a  Httle  hooked,  and  her  lips  narrow. 
Upon  her  head  she  had  a  small  crown, 
her  bosom  was  uncovered;  she  wore 
an  oblong  collar  of  gold  and  jewels, 
and  on  her  neck  an  exceeding  fine 
necklace.  She  was  dressed  in  white 
silk  bordered  with  pearls,  and  over  it 
a  mantle  of  black  silk  shot  with  silver 
threads ;  her  train,  which  was  borne 
by  her  ladies,  was  very  long.  When 
my  lord  knelt,  she  pulled  off  her  glove, 
and  gave  him  her  right  hand  to  kiss, 
sparkhng  with  rings  and  jewels ;  but 


when  my  lady,  in  as  sweet  and  modest 
a  manner  as  can  be  thought  of,  ad- 
vanced to  pay  her  the  same  homage, 
she  did  withdraw  it  hastily  and  moved 
on.  I  can  even  now,  at  this  distance 
of  time,  call  to  mind  the  look  of  that 
sweet  lady's  face  as  she  rose  to  follow 
her  majesty,  who  leant  on  my  lord' 
arm  with  a  show  of  singular  favor,  ad 
dressing  herself  to  him  in  a  mild,  play- 
ful, and  obliging  manner.  How  the 
young  countess's  cheek  did  glow  with  a 
burning  blush,  as  if  doubting  if  she  had 
offended  in  the  manner  of  her  behavi- 
or, or  had  anyways  merited  the  re- 
pulse she  had  met  with !  How  she 
stood- for  one  moment  irresolute,  seek- 
ing to  catch  my  lord's  eye,  so  as  to  be 
directed  by  him^  and  failing  to  do  so, 
with  a  pretty  smile,  but  with  what  I, 
who  loved  her,  fancied  to  be  a  quiver- 
ing hp,  addressed  herself  to  the  ladies 
of  the  queen,  and  conducted  them 
through  the  cloisters  to  the  garden, 
whither  her  highness  and  my  lord  had 
gone. 

In  a  brief  time  Mistress  Milicent 
came  to  fetch  us  to  a  window  which 
looked  on  the  square,  where  a  great 
open  tent  was  set  for  a  collation,  and 
seats  all  round  it  for  the  concert  which 
was  to  follow.  As  we  went  along,  I 
took  occasion  to  ask  of  her  the  name 
of  a  waiting-gentleman,  who  ordered 
about  the  servants  with  no  small  alac- 
rity, and  met  her  majesty  with  many 
bows  and  quirks  and  a  long  compli- 
ment in  verse. 

"Tis  Mr.  Churchyard,"  she  said; 
"  a  retainer  of  his  grace's,  and  a  poet 
withal." 

*'  Not  a  grave  one,  I  hope,"  said 
Polly. 

"  Nay,"  answered  the  simple  gentle- 
woman, "but  one  well  versed  in  pa 
geants  and  tournaments  and  suchlike 
devices,  as  well  as  in  writing  of  verses 
and  epigrams  very  fine  and  witty. 
Her  majesty  doth  sometimes  send  for 
him  when  any  pageant  is  on  hand." 

"  Ah,  then,  I  doubt  not,"  quoth 
Polly,  "  he  doth  take  himself  to  be  no 
mean  personage  in  the  state,  and  so 
behaves  accordingly." 


76 


Constance  Sherwood. 


Pretty  Milicent  left  us  to  seek  for 
Mistress  Bess,  whom  she  had  charge 
of  that  day ;  and  now  our  eyes  were 
so  mtent  on  watching  the  spectacle 
before  us  that  even  Polly  for  a  while 
was  silent.  The  queen  did  sit  at  ta- 
ble with  a  store  of  noblemen  waiting 
on  her ;  and  a  more  goodly  sight  and 
a  rarer  one  is  not  to  be  seen  than  a 
store  of  men  famed  for  so  much  brav- 
ery and  wit  and  arts  of  state,  that 
none  have  been  found  to  surpass  them 
in  any  age,  who  be  so  loyal  to  a 
queen  and  so  reverent  to  a  woman 
as  these  to  this  lady,  who  doth  wear 
the  crown  of  so  great  a  kingdom,  so 
that  all  the  world  doth  hold  it  in  re- 
spect, and  her  hand  sought  by  so  many 
great  princes.  But  all  this  time  I 
could  not  perceive  that  she  so  much 
as  once  did  look  toward  my  Lady  Sur- 
rey, or  spoke  one  single  word  to  her 
or  to  my  Lady  Lumley,  or  little  Bess, 
and  took  very  scanty  notice  also  of  my 
Lady  Berkeley,  his  grace's  sister,  who 
was  a  lady  of  so  great  and  haughty  a 
stomach,  and  of  speech  so  eloquent 
and  ready,  that  I  have  heard  the 
queen  did  say,  that  albeit  Lady  Ber- 
keley bent  her  knee  when  she  made 
obeisance  to  her,  she  could  very  well 
see  she  bent  not  her  will  to  love  or 
serve  her,  and  that  she  liked  not  such 
as  have  a  man's  heart  in  a  woman's 
body.  'Tis  said  that  parity  breedeth 
not  affection,  or  affinity  respect,  of 
which  saying  this  opinion  of  the 
queen's  should  seem  a  notable  exam- 
ple. But  to  see  my  Lady  Surrey  so 
treated  in  her  own  husband's  father's 
house  worked  in  me  such  effects  of 
choler,  mingled  with  sadness,  that  I 
could  scarce  restrain  my  tears.  Me- 
tliought  there  was  a  greater  nobleness 
and  a  more  true  queenly  greatness  in 
her  meek  and  withal  dignified  endur- 
ance of  these  slights  who  was  the  sub- 
ject, than  in  the  sovereign  who  did  so 
insult  one  who  least  of  all  did  deserve 
it.  What  the  queen  did,  others  took 
pattern  from;  and  neither  my  Lord 
Burleigh,  nor  my  Lord  Leicester,  or 
Sir  Christopher  Hatton,  or  young  Lord 
Essex  (albeit  my  loid's  own  friend j, 


or  little  Sir  John  Harrington,  her  ma- 
jesty's godson,  did  so  much  as  speak 
one  civil  word  or  show  her  the  least  at- 
tention ;  but  she  did  bear  herself  with 
GO  much  sweetness,  and,  though  I  knew 
her  heart  was  full  almost  to  bursting, 
kept  up  so  brave  an  appearance  that 
none  should  see  it  except  such  as  had 
their  own  hearts  wounded  through 
hers,  that  some  were  present  that  day 
who  since  have  told  me  that,  for  prom- 
ise of  future  distinction  and  true  nobil- 
ity of  aspect  and  behavior,  they  had 
not  in  their  whole  lives  known  one  to 
be  compared  with  the  young  Countess 
of  Surrey. 

Polly  did  point  out  to  us  the  afore- 
said noblemen  and  gentlemen,  and  also 
Dr.  Cheney,  the  bishop  of  Gloucester, 
who  had  accompanied  her  majesty,  and 
M.  de  la  Motte,  the  French  amJ)assa- 
dor,  whom  she  did  seem  greatly  to  fa- 
vor ;  but  none  that  day  so  much  as  my 
Lord  Surrey,  on  whom  she  let  fall 
many  gracious  smiles,  and  used  play- 
ful fashions  with  him,  such  as  nipping 
him  once  or  l:\vice  on  the  forehead,  and 
shaking  her  fan,  as  if  to  reprove  him 
for  his  answers  to  her  questions,  which 
nevertheless,  if  her  countenance  might 
be  judged  of,  did  greatly  content  her ; 
albeit  I  once  observed  her  to  frown 
(and  methought,  then,  what  a  terror 
doth  lie  in  a  sovereign's  frown)  and 
speak  sharply  to  him ;  at  the  which  a 
high  color  came  into  his  cheek,  and 
rose  up  even  to  his  temples,  which  her 
majesty  perceiving,  she  did  again  use 
the  same  blandishments  as  before  ; 
and  when  the  collation  was  ended,  and 
the  concert  began,  which  had  been  pro- 
vided for  her  grace's  entertainment, 
she  would  have  him  sit  at  her  feet, 
and  gave  him  so  many  tokens  of  good- 
will, that  I  heard  Sir  Ralph  Ingoldby, 
who  was  standing  behind  me,  say  to 
another  gentleman : 

"  If  that  young  nobleman's  father  is 
like  to  be  shorter  by  the  head,  his  fa- 
ther's son  is  like  to  have  liis  own 
raised  higher  than  ever  his  father's 
was,  so  he  doth  keep  clear  of  papist 
ry  and  oveiTnuch  fondness  for  his 
wife,  which    be  the    two   tilings   her 


Constance  Sherwood. 


77 


majesty  doth  most  abhor  in  her  cour- 
tiers." 

My  heart  moving  me  to  curiosity,  I 
could  not  forbear  to  ask : 

"  I  pray  you,  sir,  wherefore  doth  not 
lier  majesty  like  her  courtiers  to  love 
their  wives  ?  " 

At  the  which  question  he  laughed, 
and  said : 

"  By  reason,  Mistress  Constance, 
that  when  they  be  in  that  case  they  do 
become  stayers  at  home,  and  wait  not 
on  her  majesty  with  a  like  diligence 
us  when  they  are  unmarried,  or  least- 
ways love  not  their  ladies.  The  Bible 
saith  a  man  cannot  serve  God  and 
mammon.  Now  her  grace  doth  opine 
men  cannot  serve  the  queen  and  their 
wives  also." 

"Then,"  I  warmly  cried,  "I  hope 
my  Lord  Surrey  shall  never  serve  the 
queen !" 

"  r  faith,  say  it  not  so  loud,  young 
Mistress  Papist,"  said  Sir  Ralph, 
laughing,  "  or  we  shall  have  you  com- 
mitted for  high  treason.  Some  are  in 
the  Tower,  I  warrant  you,  for  no  worse 
offence  than  the  uttering  of  such  like 
rash  words.  How  should  you  fancy 
to  have  your  pretty  ears  bored  with  a 
rougher  instrument  than  Master  An- 
selm's  the  jeweller  ?" 

And  so  he  ;  but  Polly,  who  methinks 
was  not  well  pleased  that  he  should 
notice  mine  ears,  which  were  little  and 
well-shaped,  whereas  hers  were  some- 
what larger  than  did  accord  with  her 
small  face,  did  stop  his  further  speech 
with  me  by  asking  him  if  he  were  an 
enemy  to  papists  ;  for  if  so,  she  would 
have  naught  to  say  to  him,  and  he 
might  become  a  courtier  to  the  queen, 
or  any  one  else's  husband,  for  any- 
thing she  did  care,  yea,  if  she  were  to 
lose  her  ears  for  it. 

And  he  answered,  he  did  very  much 
love  some  papists,  albeit  he  hated  pa- 
pistry when  it  proved  not  conformable 
to  reason  and  the  laws  of  the  country. 

And  so  they  fell  to  whispering  and 
suchlike  discourses  as  lovers  hold  to- 
gether ;  and  I,  being  seated  betwixt 
this  enamored  gentleman  and  the  wall 
on  the  other  side,  had  no  one  then  to 


talk  with.  But  if  my  tongue  and 
mine  ears  also,  save  for  the  music  be- 
low, were  idle,  not  so  mine  eyes ;  for 
they  did  stray  from  one  point  to  another 
of  the  fair  spectacle  which  the  garden 
did  then  present,  now  resting  on  tha 
queen  and  those  near  unto  her,  and 
anon  on  ray  Lady  Surrey,  who  sat  on 
a  couch  to  the  left  of  her  majesty's 
raised  canopy,  together  with  Lady 
Southwell,  Lady  Arundell  (Sir  Rob- 
ert's wife),  and  other  ladies  of  the 
queen,  and  on  one  side  of  her  the 
bishop  of  Gloucester,  whom,  by  reason 
of  his  assiduous  talking  with  her,  I 
took  more  special  note  of  than  I  should 
otherwise  have  done ;  albeit  he  was  a 
man  which  did  attract  the  eye,  even  at 
Ihc  first  sight,  by  a  most  amiable  suav- 
ity of  countenance,  and  a  sweet  and 
dignified  behavior  both  in  speech  and 
action  such  as  I  have  seldom  observed 
greater  in  any  one.  His  manners 
were  free  and  uncons: rained ;  and  only 
to  look  at  him  converse,  it  was  easy  to 
perceive  he  had  a  most  ready  wit 
tempered  with  benevolence.  He 
seemed  vastly  taken  v.dth  my  Lady 
Surrey;  and  cither  had  not  noticed 
how  others  kept  aloof  from  her,  or  was 
rather  moved  thereby  to  show  her 
civility;  for  they  soon  did  fall  into 
such  eager,  and  in  some  sort  familiar, 
discourse,  as  it  should  seem  to  run  on 
some  subject  of  like  interest  to  both. 
Her  color  went  and  came  as  the  con- 
versation advanced;  and  when  she 
spoke,  he  listened  with  such  grave 
suavity,  and,  when  she  stayed  her 
speech,  answered  in  so  obliging  a 
manner,  and  seemed  so  loth  to  break 
off,  that  I  could  not  but  admire  how 
two  persons,  hitherto  strangers  to  each 
other,  and  of  such  various  ages  and 
standing,  should  be  so  companionable 
on  a  first  acquaintanceship. 

When  the  queen  rose  to  depart,  ia 
the  same  order  in  which  she  came, 
every  one  kneeling  as  she  passed,  I 
did  keenly  watch  to  sec  what  visage 
she  would  show  to  my  Lady  Surrey, 
whom  she  did  indeed  this  time  salute ; 
but  in  no  gracious  manner,  as  one  who 
looks  without  looking,  notices  without 


78 


Constnace  Sherwood, 


heeding,  and  in  tendering  of  thanks 
thanketh  not.  As  my  lord  walked  by 
her  majesty's  side  through  the  cloisters 
to  the  door,  he  suddenly  dropped  on 
one  knee,  and  drawing  a  paper  from 
his  bosom,  did  present  it  to  her  high- 
ness, who  started  as  if  surprised,  and 
shook  her  head  in  a  playful  manner — 
(oh,  what  a  cruel  playfulness  me- 
thought  it  was,  who  knew,  as  her 
majesty  must  needs  also  have  done, 
what  that  paper  did  contain) — as  if 
she  would  not  be  at  that  time  troubled 
with  such  grave  matters,  and  did  hand 
it  to  my  Lord  Burleigh ;  then  gave 
again  her  hand  to  my  lord  to  kiss,  who 
did  kneel  with  a  like  reverence  as  be- 
fore ;  but  with  a  shade  of  melancholy 
in  his  fair  young  face,  which  methought 
became  it  better  than  the  smiles  it  had 
worn  that  day. 

After  the  queen  had  left,  and  all 
the  guests  were  gone  save  such  few  as 
my  lord  had  willed  to  stay  to  supper 
in  his  private  apartments,  I  went  unto 
my  lady's  chamber,  where  I  found 
Mistress  Milicent,  who  said  she  was 
with  my  lord,  and  prayed  me  to  await 
her  return  ;  for  that  she  was  urgent  I 
should  not  depart  without  speaking 
with  her,  which  was  also  what  I  great- 
ly desired.  So  I  took  a  book  and  read 
for  the  space  of  an  hour  or  more,  whilst 
she  tarried  with  my  lord.  When  she 
came  in,  I  could  see  she  had  been 
weeping.  But  her  women  being  pre- 
sent, and  likewise  Mistress  Bess,  she 
tried  to  smile,  and  pressed  my  hand, 
bidding  me  to  stay  till  she  was  rid  oi 
her  trappings,  as  she  did  term  them  ; 
and,  sitting  down  before  her  mirror, 
— ^though  I  ween  she  never  looked  at 
her  own  face,  which  that  evening  had 
in  it  more  of  the  whiteness  of  a  lily  than 
the  color  of  the  rose, — she  desired  her 
women  to  unbraid  her  hair,  and  remove 
from  her  head  the  diamond  circlet,  and 
from  her  neck  the  heavy  gold  chain  with 
a  pearl  cross,  which  had  belonged  to  her 
husband's  mother.  Then  stepping  out 
of  her  robe,  she  put  on  a  silk  wrapper, 
and  so  dismissed  them,  and  likewise 
little  Bess,  who  before  she  went  whis- 
pered in  her  ew : 


"Nan,  methlnks  the  queen  is  foul 
and  red-haired,  and  1  should  not  care 
to  kiss  her  hand  for  all  the  fine  jewels 
she  doth  wear." 

And  so  hugged  her  round  the  neck 
and  stopped  her  mouth  with  kisses 
When  they  were  gone, 

"  Constance,"  quoth  she, "  we  be  fiiii 
young,  I  ween,  for  the  burden  laid  up- 
on us,  my  lord  and  me." 

"  Ay,  sweet  one,"  I  cried ;  "  and  God 
defend  thou  shouldst  have  to  carry  it 
alone;"  for  my  heart  was  sore  that 
she  had  had  so  httle  favor  shown 
to  her  and  my  lord  so  much.  .A  faint 
color  tinged  her  cheek  as  she  replied : 

"  God  knows  I  should  be  well  con- 
tent that  Phil  should  stand  so  well  in 
her  majesty's  good  graces  as  should 
be  convenient  to  his  honor  and  the 
furtherance  of  his  fortunes,  if  so  be 
his  father  was  out  of  prison ;  and  'tis 
little  I  should  reck  of  such  slights  as 
her  highness  should  choose  to  put  up- 
on me,  if  X  saw  him  not  so  covetous  of 
her  favor  that  he  shall  think  less  well 
of  his  poor  Nan  hereafter  by  reason 
of  the  lack  of  her  majesty's  good  opin- 
ion of  her,  which  was  so  plainly. showed 
to-day.  For,  good  Constance,  bethink 
thee  what  a  galUng  thing  it  is  to  a 
young  nobleman  to  see  his  wife  so 
meanly  entreated ;  and  for  her  majes- 
ty to  ask  him,  as  she  did,  if  the  pale- 
faced  chit  by  his  side,  when  she  ar- 
rived, was  his  sister  or  his  cousin. 
And  when  he  said  it  was  his  wife  who 
had  knelt  with  him  to  greet  her  maj- 
esty— "  AYife ! "  quoth  the  queen  ;  "  i ' 
faith,  I  had  forgotten  thou  wast  mar- 
ried— if  indeed  that  is  to  be  called  a 
marriage  which  children  do  contract 
before  they  come  to  the  age  of  reason  ;" 
and  said  she  would  take  measures  for 
that  a  law  should  be  passed  which 
should  make  such  foohsh  marriages 
unlawful.  And  when  my  lord  tried 
to  tell  her  we  had  been  married  a 
second  time  a  few  months  since,  she 
pretended  not  to  hear,  and  asked  ^1. 
de  la  Motte  if,  in  his  country,  children 
were  made  to  marry  in  their  infancy. 
To  which  he  gave  answer,  that  the 
hke  practice  did  sometimes  take  place 


Gonstance.  Sherwood, 


79 


in  f^'ranco;  &r5Q  tiiat  he  had  himself 
been  prcseiit  m  a  wedding  where  the 
bridegroom  was  %viiipped  because  he 
did  remse  to  open  the  ball  with  the 
bride.  At  the  which  her  majesty  very 
much  laughed,  ana  said  she  hoped  my 
lord  had  not  been  so  used  on  his  wed- 
ding-day. I  promise  you  Phil  was 
very  angry ;  but  the  w^ound  these  jests 
made  was  so  palved  over  with  compli- 
ments, which  pleasantly  tickle  the  ears 
when  uttered  by  so  great  a  queen,  and 
marks  of  favor  more  numerous  than 
can  be  thought  of,  in  the  matter  of  in- 
viting him  to  hunt  with  her  in  Maryle- 
bone  and  Greenwich  park,  and  telling 
him  he  deserved  better  treatment  than 
he  had,  as  to  his  household  and  setting 
forward  in  the  world,  that  methinks 
the  scar  was  not  long  in  healing ;  al- 
beit in  the  relating  of  these  passages 
the  pain  somewhat  revived.  But  what 
doth  afflict  me  the  most  is  the  refusal 
her  highness  made  to  read  my  lord's 
letter,  lamenting  the  unhappy  position 
of  the  duke  his  father,  and  hoping  the 
queen,  by  his  means  and  those  of  other 
friends,  should  mitigate  her  anger.  I 
would  have  had  Phil  not  only  go  down 
on  his  knees  as  he  did,  but  lie  on  the 
threshold  of  the  door,  so  that  she 
should  have  walked  over  the  son's 
body  if  she  refused  to  show  mercy  to 
the  father;  but  he  yet  doth  greatly 
hope  from  the  favor  showed  him  that 
he  may  sue  her  majesty  with  better  ef- 
fect some  other  time ;  and  I  pray  God 
he  may  be  right." 

Here  did  the  dear  lady  break  off 
her  speech,  and,  hiding  her  face  in  her 
hands,  remained  silent  for  a  short 
space;  and  I,  seeing  her  so  deeply 
moved,  w;ith  the  intent  to  draw  away 
her  thoughts  from  painful  musings,  in- 
quired of  her  if  the  good  entertain- 
ment she  had  found  in  conversing  with 
the  bishop  had  been  attributable  to 
his  witty  discourse,  or  to  the  subjects 
therein  treated  of. 

"Ah,  good  Constance,'*'  she  an- 
swered, "our  talk  was  of  one  whom 
you  have  often  heard  me  speak  of — 
Mr.  Martin's  friend,  Master  Campion,* 

*  State  Papers. 


who  is  now  beyond  seas  at  "Douay,  and 
whom  this  bishop  once  did  hold  to  be 
more  dear  to  him  than  the  apple  of 
his  eye.  He  says  his  qualifications 
were  so  excellent,  and  he  so  beloved 
by  all  persons  in  and  outside  of  h's 
college  at  Oxford,  that  none  more  so  ; 
and  that  he  did  himself  see  in  him  so 
great  a  present  merit  and  promise  ot 
future  excellence,  that  it  had  caused 
him  more  grief  than  anything  else 
which  had  happened  to  him,  and  been 
the  occasion  of  his  shedding  more  tears 
than  he  had  ever  thought  to  have 
done,  when  he  who  had  received  from 
him  deacon's  orders,  and  whom  he 
had  hoped  should  have  been  an  honor 
and  a  prop  to  the  Church  of  England, 
did  forsake  it  and  fly  in  the  face  of  his 
queen  and  his  country:  first,  by  going 
into  Ireland ;  and  then,  as  he  under- 
stood, beyond  seas,  to  serve  the  bishop 
of  Rome,  against  the  laws  of  God  and 
man.  But  that  he  did  yet  so  dearly 
affection  him  that,  understanding  we 
had  sometimes  tidings  of  Mr.  Martin, 
by  whose  means  he  had  mostly  been 
moved  to  this  lamentable  defection,  he 
should  be  contented  to  hear  somewhat 
of  his  whilom  son,  still  dear  to  him,  al- 
beit estranged.  I  told  him  we  did 
often  see  Master  Campion  when  Mr. 
Martin  was  here  ;  and  that,  from  what 
I  had  heard,  both  were  Mke  to  be  at 
Douay,  but  that  no  letters  passed  be- 
tween Mr.  Martin  and  ourselves  ;  for 
that  his  grace  did  not  allow  of  such 
correspondence  since  he  had  been  re- 
conciled and  gone  beyond  seas.  Which 
the  bishop  said  was  a  commendable 
prudence  in  his  grace,  and  the  part  of 
a  careful  father  ;  and  added,  that  then 
maybe  he  knew  more  of  what  had  be- 
fallen Master  Campion  than  I  did  ; 
for  that  he  had  a  long  epistle  from 
him,  so  full  of  moving  arguments  and 
pithy  remonstrances  as  might  have 
shaken  one  not  well  grounded  and 
settled  in  his  rehgion,  and  which  also 
contained  a  recital  of  his  near  aiTest 
in  Dublin,  where  the  queen's  officers 
would  have  arrested  him,  if  a  friend 
had  not  privately  warned  him  of  his 
danger.     And  I  do  know,  good  Con- 


80 


Constance  Sherwood. 


Btaiice,  who  that  friend  was  ;  for  albeit 
I  would  not  tell  the  bishop  we  had 
seen  Master  Campion  since  he  was  re- 
eonciled,  he,  in  truth,  was  here  some 
months  ago :  my  lord  met  him  in 
the  street,  disguised  as  a  common 
travelling  man,  and  brought  him  into 
!  he  garden,  whither  he  also  called  me  ; 
and  we  heard  then  from  him  how  he 
would  have  been  taken  in  Ireland,  if 
ihe  viceroy  himself.  Sir  Henry  Syd- 
ney, who  did  greatly  favor  him, — as 
indeed  all  who  know  him  incline  to  do, 
for  his  great  parts,  and  nobleness  of 
mind  and  heart,  and  withal  most  at- 
tractive manners, — had  not  sent  him  a 
message,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  to 
the  effect  that  he  should  instantly 
leave  the  city,  and  take  measures  for 
to  escape  abroad.  So,  under  the  name 
of  Patrick,  and  wearing  the  livery  of 
the  Earl  of  Kildare,  he  travelled  to  a 
port  twenty  miles  from  Dublin,  and 
there  embarked  for  England.  The 
queen's  officers,  coming  on  board  the 
ship  whereon  he  had  taken  his  pas- 
sage, before  it  sailed,  searched  it  all 
over;  but  through  God's  mercy,  he 
said,  and  St.  Patrick's  prayers,  whose 
name  he  had  taken,  no  one  did  recog- 
nize him,  and  he  passed  to  London  ; 
and  the  day  after,  my  lord  sent  him 
over  to  Flanders.  So  much  as  the 
bishop  did  know  thereon,  he  related 
unto  me,  and  stinted  not  in  his  praise 
of  his  great  merits,  and  lamentations 
for  what  he  called  his  perversion ;  and 
hence  he  took  occasion  to  speak  of  re- 
ligion. And  w^hen  I  said  I  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  Catholic  religion, 
albeit  I  now  conformed  to  the 
times,  he  said  he  would  show  me  the 
way  to  be  Catholic  and  still  obey  the 
laws,  and  that  I  might  yet  believe  for 
the  most  part  what  I  had  learnt  from 
my  teachers,  so  be  I  renounced  the 
Pope,  and  commended  my  saying  the 
prayers  I  had  been  used  to  ;  which,  he 
doubted  not,  were  more  pleasing  to 
God  than  such  as  some  ministers  do 
recite  out  of  their  own  heads,  whom  he 
did  grieve  to  hear  frequented  our 
house,  and  were  no  better  than  here- 
tics, such  as  Mr.  Fox  and  Mr.  Fulke 


and  Mr.  Charkc,  and  the  like  of  them. 
But  what  did  much  content  me  was, 
that  he  misllkes  the  cruel  usap:e  recu- 
sants do  meet  with  ;  and  he  said,  not 
as  if  boasting  of  it,  but  to  declare  his 
mind  thereon,  that  he  had  often  sent 
them  alms  who  suffered  for  their  con- 
science' sake,  as  many  do  at  ihis  time. 
But  that  I  was  to  remember  many 
Protestants  were  burnt  in  the  late 
queen's  time,  and  that  if  Papists  w^ere 
not  kept  under  by  strict  laws,  the  like 
might  happen  again. 

"  You  should  have  told  him,''  I  cried, 
who  had  been  silent  longer  than  I 
liked,  "  that  Protestants  arc  burnt  also 
in  this  reign,  by  the  same  token  that 
some  Anabaptists  did  so  suffer  a  short 
time  back,  to  your  Mr.  Fox's  no  smaU 
disgust,  who  should  will  none  but 
Catholics  to  be  put  to  death." 

"  Content  thee,  good  Constance,"  my 
lady  answered  ;  "  I  be  not  so  furnished 
with  arguments  as  thou  in  a  like  case 
wouldst  be.  So  I  only  said,  I  would 
to  God  none  were  burnt,  or  hanged,  or 
tortured  any  more  in  this  country,  or 
in  the  world  at  all,  for  religion ;  and 
my  lord  of  Gloucester  declared  he  was 
of  the  same  mind,  and  would  have 
none  so  dealt  with,  if  he  could  mend 
it,  here  or  abroad.  Then  the  queen 
rising  to  go,  our  discourse  came  to  an 
end  ;  but  this  good  bishop  says  he  will 
visit  me  when  he  next  doth  come  to 
London,  and  make  that  matter  plain  to 
me  how  I  can  remain  Catholic,  and 
obey  the  queen,  and  content  his  gra«e." 

"  Then  he  will  show  you,"  I  cried, 
"  how  to  serve  God  and  the  world, 
which  the  gospel  saith  is  a  thing  not 
to  be  thought  of,  and  full  of  peril  to 
the  soul." 

My  Lady  Surrey  burst  into  tears, 
and  I  was  angered  with  myself  that  1 
had  spoken  peradventurc  over  sharply 
to  her  who  had  too  much  trouble  al- 
ready ;  but  it  did  make  me  mad  to  see 
her  so  beset  that  the  faith  which  had 
been  once  so  rooted  in  her,  and  should 
be  her  sure  and  only  stay  in  the  dan- 
gerous path  she  had  entered  on,  should 
be  in  such  wise  shaken  as  her  words 
did  indicate.     But   she  was  not   an- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


8l 


gered,  the  sweet  soul;  and  drawing 
mc  to  herself,  laid  her  head  on  my  bo- 
som, and  said : 

"  Thou  art  a  true  friend,  though  a 
bold  one  ;  and  I  pray  God  I  may 
never  laek  the  benefit  of  such  friend- 
ship as  thine,  for  he  knoweth  I  have 
great  need  thereof." 

And  so  wc  parted  with  many  tender 
embraces,  and  our  hearts  more  strictly 
linked  together  than  heretofore. 


CHAPTER    X. 

In  the  month  of  November  of  the 
same  year  in  which  the  queen  did 
visit  Lord  and  Lady  Surrey  at  the 
Charter  House,  a  person,  who  men- 
tioned not  his  name,  delivered  into  the 
porter's  hands  at  our  gate  a  letter  for 
me,  which  I  found  to  be  from  my  good 
father,  and  which  I  do  here  transcribe,  as 
a  memorial  of  his  great  piety  toward 
God,  and  tender  love  for  me  his  un- 
worthy child. 

"My  dearly  beloved  Daugh- 
ter (so  he), — Your  comfortable  let- 
ter has  not  a  little  cheered  me  ;  and 
the  more  so  that  this  present  one  is 
like  to  be  the  last  I  shall  be  able  to 
write  on  this  side  of  the  sea,  if  it  so 
happen  that  it  shall  please  God  to 
prosper  my  intent,  which  is  to  pass 
over  into  Flanders  at  the  first  conven- 
ient opportunity:  for  the  stress  of  the 
times,  and  mine  own  earnest  desire  to 
live  within  the  compass  of  a  religious 
life,  have  .moved  me  to  forsake  for  a 
while  this  realm,  and  betake  myself 
to  a  place  which  shall  afford  oppor- 
tunity and  a  sufficiency  of  leisure  for 
the  prosecution  of  my  design.  The 
comfortable  report  Edmund  made  of 
thy  health,  increased  height,  and  good 
condition,  as  also  of  thy  exceeding 
[)leasant  and  affectionate  behavior  to 
him,  as  deputed  from  thy  poor  father 
to  convey  to  thee  his  paternal  bless- 
ing, together  with  such  tokens  as  a 
third  person  may  exhibit  of  that  most 
natural  and  tender  affection  which  he 


bears  to  thee,  his  sole  child,  whom 
next  to  God  he  doth  most  entirely 
value  and  love, — of  which  charge  this 
good  youth  assured  me  he  did  acquit 
himself  as  my  true  son  in  Christ, 
which  indeed  he  now  is, — and  my  good 
brother's  letter  and  thine,  which  both 
do  give  proof  of  the  exceeding  great 
favor  shown  toward  thee  in  his 
house,  wherein  he  doth  reckon  my 
Constance  not  so  much  a  niece  (for 
such  be  his  words)  as  a  most  cherish- 
ed daughter,  whose  good  qualities  and 
lively  parts  have  so  endeared  her  to 
his  family,  that  the  greatest  sorrow 
which  could  befal  them  should  be  to 
lose  her  company ;  which  I  do  not 
here  recite  for  to  awaken  in  thee  mo- 
tions of  pride  or  a  vain  conceit  of 
thine  own  deserts,  but  rather  gratitude 
to  those  whose  goodness  is  so  great  as 
to  overlook  thy  defects  and  magnify 
thy  merits ; — Edmund's  report,  I  say, 
coupled  with  these  letters,  have  yield- 
ed me  all  the  contentment  I  desire  at 
this  time,  when  I  am  about  to  embark 
on  a  perilous  voyage,  of  which  none 
can  foresee  the  course  or  the  end  ;  one 
in  which  I  take  the  cross  of  Christ 
as  my  only  staff ;  his  words,  "  Follow 
me,"  for  my  motto;  and  his  promise 
to  all  such  as  do  confess  him  before 
men,  as  the  assured  anchor  of  my  hope. 
"  Our  ingenuous  youth  informed 
thee  (albeit  I  doubt  not  in  such  wise 
as  to  conceal,  if  it  had  been  possible, 
his  own  ability,  which,  with  his  devot- 
edness,  do  exceed  praise)  how  he  ac- 
quitted both  me  and  others  of  mucli 
trouble  and  imminent  danger  by  his 
fortunate  despatch  w^ith  that  close  pris- 
oner. I  had  determined  to  place  him 
with  some  of  my  acquaintance,  lest 
perhaps  he  should  return,  not  without 
some  danger  of  his  soul,  to  his  own 
friends  ;  but  when  he  understood  my 
resolution,  he  cried  out  v/ith  like  words 
to  those  of  Si.  Lawrence,  '^Whither 
goeth  my  master  without  his  servant  ? 
Whither  goeth  my  father  without  his 
son  ?'  and  with  teai'S  distilling  from 
his  eyes,  he  humbly  entreated  he 
might  go  together  with  me,  saying,  as 
it  were  with  St.  Peter,  '  Master,  I  aiP 


82 


Constance  Skei^wood, 


ready  to  go  with  yoii  to  prison,  yea  to 
death ; '  but,  forecasting  his  future 
ability,  as  also  to  try  his  spirit  a  little 
further,  I  made  him  answer  it  was  im- 
possible ;  to  which  our  Edmund  re- 
plied, '  Alas  !  and  is  it  impossible  ? 
Shall  my  native  soil  restrain  free  will  ? 
or  home-made  laws  alter  devout  reso- 
lutions ?  Am  I  not  young  ?  Can  I 
not  study  ?  May  I  not  in  time  get 
what  you  now  have  got — learning  for  a 
scholar  ?  yea,  virtue  for  a  priest,  per- 
haps ;  aud  so  at  length  obtain  that  for 
which  you  now  are  ready  ?  Direct 
me  the  way,  I  beseech  you  ;  and  let 
me,  if  you  please,  be  your  precursor. 
Tell  me  what  I  shall  do,  or  whither  I 
must  go  ;  and  for  the  rest,  God,  who 
knows  my  desire,  will  provide  and 
supply  the  want.  Can  it  be  possible 
that  he  who  clothes  the  lilies  of  the 
field,  and  feeds  the  fowls  of  the  air, 
will  forsake  him  who  forsakes  all  to 
fulfil  his  divine  precept,  "  Seek  first 
the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  justice, 
and  all  other  things  shall  be  given 
to  you  ? " '  Finally,  he  ended,  to 
my  no  small  admiration,  by  reciting 
the  words  of  our  Saviour,  '  Whoso- 
ever shall  forsake  home,  or  brethren, 
or  sisters,  or  father,  or  mother,  for  my 
sake  and  the  gospel's,  shall  receive  a 
hundredfold  and  possess  life  everlast- 
ing.' 

"  By  these  impulses,  often  repeated 
with  great  fervor  of  spirit,  I  perceived 
God  Almighty's  calling  in  him,  and 
therefore  at  last  condescended  to  let 
him  take  his  adventures,  procuring 
him  commendations  to  such  friends  be- 
yond seas  as  should  assist  him  in  his 
purpose,  and  furnishing  him  with  money 
sufficient  for  such  a  journey  ;  not  judg- 
ing it  to  be  prudent  to  keep  him  with 
me,  who  have  not  ability  to  warrant 
mine  own  passage;  and  so  noted  a 
recusant,  that  I  run  a  greater  risk  to 
be  arrested  in  any  port  where  I  em- 
bark. And  so,  in  all  love  and  affec- 
tion, we  did  part ;  and  I  have  since 
had  intelligence,  for  the  which  I  do 
return  most  humble  and  hearty  thanks 
to  God,  that  he  hath  safely  crossed 
the  seas,  and  has  now  reached  a  sure 


harbor,  where  his  religious  desires 
may  take  effect.  And  now,  daughter 
Constance,  mine  own  good  child,  fare 
thee  well !  Pray  for  thy  poor  father, 
who  would  fain  give  thee  the  blessing 
of  the  elder  as  of  the  younger  son — 
Jacob's  portion  and  Esau's  also.  But 
methinks  the  blessings  of  this  world 
be  not  at  the  present  time  for  the 
Catholics  of  this  land ;  and  so  we 
must  needs  be  content,  for  our  chil- 
dren as  for  ourselves  (and  a  covetous 
man  he  is  which  should  not  therewith 
be  satisfied),  with  the  blessings  our 
Lord  did  utter  on  the  mountain,  and 
mostly  with  that  in  which  he  doth 
say,  '  Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall 
persecute  you,  and  revile  you,  and  say 
all  manner  of  evil  against  you  falsely, 
for  my  name's  sake  ;  for  great  is  your 
reward  in  heaven.' 

"  Your  loving  father  in  natural  af- 
fection and  ten  thousand  times  more 
in  the  love  of  Christ,  H.  S." 

Oh,  what  a  gulf  of  tenfold  separa- 
tion did  those  words  "beyond  seas" 
suggest  betwixt  that  sole  parent  and 
his  poor  child  !  Thoughts  travel 
not  with  ease  beyond  the  limits  which 
nature  hath  set  to  this  isle  ;  and  what 
lies  beyond  the  watery  waste  where- 
with Providence  hath  engirdled  our 
shores  offers  no  apt  images  to  the 
mind  picturing  the  invisible  from  the 
visible,  as  it  is  wont  to  do  with  home;- 
scenes,  where  one  city  or  one  land- 
scape beareth  a  close  resemblance  to 
another.  And  if,  in  the  forsaking  of 
this  realm,  so  much  danger  did  lie, 
yea,  in  the  very  ports  whence  h<^ 
might  sail,  so  that  I,  who  should  othci*- 
wise  have  prayed  that  the  winds 
might  detain  him,  and  the  waves  force 
him  back  on  his  native  soil,  was  con- 
strained to  supplicate  that  they  should 
assist  him  to  abandon  it, — how  much 
greater,  methought,  should  be  tlie  pei- 
ils  of  his  return,  when,  as  he  indeed 
hoped,  a  mark  sliould  be  set  on  him 
which  in  our  country  dooms  men  to  a 
cruel  death  !  Many  natural  tears  1 
shed  at  this  parting,  which  until  th«n 
had  not  seemed  so  desperate  and  final : 


Constance  Sherwood. 


«3 


and  for  a  while  would  not  listen  to  the 
consolations  which  were  offered  by  the 
good  friends  who  were  so  tender  to  me, 
but  continued  to  wander  about  in  a 
disconsolate  manner  in  the  garden,  or 
passionately  to  weep  in  my  own  cham- 
ber, until  Muriel,  the  sovereign  mis- 
tress of  comfort  to  others,  albeit  ever 
ailing  in  her  body,  and  contemned  by 
such  as  dived  not  through  exterior  de- 
formity into  the  interior  excellences  of 
her  soul,  with  sweet  compulsion  and 
authoritative  arguments  drawn  from 
her  admirable  faith  and  simple  devo- 
tion, rekin41ed  in  mine  the  more  noble 
sentiments  sorrow  had  obscured,  not 
so  much  through  diverting,  as  by  ele- 
vating and  sweetening,  my  thoughts,  to 
a  greater  sense  of  the. goodness  of  God 
in  calling  my  father,  and  peradventure 
Edmund  also,  to  so  great  an  honor  as 
the  priesthood,  and  never  more  honor- 
able than  in  these  days,  wherein  it 
oftentimes  doth  prove  the  road  to  mar- 
tyrdom. 

In  December  of  that  year  my  Lord 
and  my  Lady  Surrey,  by  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk's  desire,  removed  for  some 
weeks  to  Kenninghall  for  change  of 
air,  and  also  Lady  Lumley,  his  grace 
judging  them  to  be  as  yet  too  young  to 
keep  house  alone.  My  lord's  brothers 
and  Mistress  Bess,  with  her  gover- 
ness, were  likewise  carried  there. 
Lady  Surrey  wrote  from  that  seat, 
that,  were  it  not  for  the  duke's  impris- 
onment and  constant  fears  touching  his 
life,  she  should  have  had  great  con- 
tentment in  that  retirement,  and  been 
most  glad  to  have  tarried  there,  if  it 
had  pleased  God,  so  long  as  she  lived, 
ray  lord  taking  so  much  pleasure  in 
field-sports,  and  otherwise  so  compan- 
ionable, that  he  often  offered  to  ride 
with  her ;  and  in  the  evenmgs  they 
did  entertain  themselves  with  books, 
chiefly  poetry,  and  sometimes  played 
at  cards.  They  had  but  few  visitors, 
by  reason  of  the  disgrace  and  trouble 
his  grace  was  in  at  that  time  ;  only 
such  of  their  neighbors  as  did  hunt 
and  shoot  with  the  earl  her  husband  ; 
mostly  Sir  Henry  Stafford  and  Mr. 
Rookwood's  two  sons,  whom  she  com- 


mended ;  the  one  for  his  good  quali- 
ties and  honest  carriage,  and  the  other 
for  wit  and  learning;  as  also  Sir  Ham- 
mond I'Estrange,  a  gentleman  who 
stayed  no  longer  away  from  Kenning- 
hall, she  observed,  than  thereunto  com- 
pelled by  lack  of  an  excuse  for  tarry- 
ing if  present,  or  returning  when  ab- 
sent. He  often  procured  to  be  invited 
by  my  lord,  who  used  to  meet  him  out 
of  doors,  and  frequently  carried  him 
back  with  him  to  dine  or  to  sup,  and 
often  both. 

"  And  albeit"  (so  my  lady  wrote  j 
"  I  doubt  not  but  he  doth  set  a  reason- 
able value  on  my  lord's  society, — who, 
although  young  enough  to  be  his  son, 
is  exceedingly  conversable  and  pleas- 
ant, as  every  one  who  knows  him  doth 
testify,— and  mislikes  not,  I  ween,  the 
good  cheer,  or  the  wine  from  his 
grace's  cellar  ;  yet  I  warrant  thee, 
good  Constance,  'tis  not  for  the  sake 
only  of  our  poor  company  or  hospita- 
ble table  that  this  good  knightr  doth 
haunt  us,  but  rather  from  the  passion 
I  plainly  see  he  hath  conceived  for  our 
Milicent  since  a  day  when  he  hurt  his 
arm  by  a  fall  not  far  from  hence,  and 
I  procured  she  should  dress  it  with 
that  rare  ointment  of  thine,  which  ver- 
ily doth  prove  of  great  efficacy  in 
cases  where  the  skin  is  rubbed  off. 
Methinks  the  wound  in  his  arm  was 
then  transplanted  into  his  heart,  and 
the  good  man  so  bewitched  with  the 
blue  eyes  and  dove-like  countenance 
of  his  chirurgeon,  that  he  has  fallen 
head-over-ears  in  love,  and  is,  as  I 
hope,  minded  to  address  her  in  a  law- 
ful manner.  His  wound  did  take  an 
exceeding  long  time  in  healing,  to  the 
no  small  discredit  of  thy  ointment; 
for  he  came  several  days  to  have  it 
dressed,  and  I  could  not  choose  but 
smile  when  at  last  our  sweet  practi- 
tioner did  ask  him,  in  an  innocent 
manner,  if  the  wound  did  yet  smart, 
for  indeed  she  could  see  no  appearanc<^ 
in  it  but  what  betokened  it  to  be  healed. 
He  answered,  *  There  be  wounds,  ISIis- 
tress  Milicent,  whic^  smart,  albeit  no 
outward  marks  of  such  suffering  do 
show  themselves.'     *  Ay,' quoth  Mili- 


84 


^onstance  Sherwood. 


cent,  'but  for  such  I  be  of  opinion  fur- 
ther dressing  is  needless  ;  and  with 
my  lady's  licence,  I  will  furnish  you, 
sir,  with  a  liquid  which  shall  strengthen 
the  skin,  and  so  relieve  the  aching,  if 
so  you  be  careful  to  apply  it  night  and 
morning  to  the  injured  part,  and  to 
cork  the  bottle  after  using  it.'  '  My 
memory  is  so  bad,  fair  physician,' 
quoth  the  knight,  '  that  I  am  like  to 
forget  the  prescription.'  She  an 
swered,  he  should  stand  the  bottle  so 
as  it  should  meet  his  eyes  when  he 
rose,  and  then  he  must  needs  remem- 
ber it. 

"  And  so  broke  off  the  discourse. 
But  when  he  is  here  I  notice  how  his 
eyes  do  follow  her  when  she  sets  the 
table  for  primero,  or  works  at  the 
tambour-frame,  or  plays  with  Bess,  to 
whom  he  often  talks  as  she  sits  on  her 
knees,  who,  if  I  mistake  not,  shall  be, 
one  of  these  days,  Lady  I'Estrange, 
and  is  as  worthy  to  be  so  well  married 
as  any  girl  in  the  kingdom,  both  as 
touching  her  birth  and  her  exceeding 
great  virtue  and  good  disposition.  He 
is  an  extreme  Protestant,  and  very 
bitter  against  Catholics  ;  but  as  she, 
albeit  mild  in  temper,  is  as  firmly  set- 
tled in  the  new  religion  as  he  is,  no 
difference  will  exist  between  them  on 
a  point  in  which  'tis  most  of  all  to  be 
desired  husbands  and  wives  should 
be  agreed.  Thou  mayst  think  that  I 
have  been  over  apt  to  note  the  signs  of 
this  good  knight's  passion,  and  to  draw 
deductions  from  such  tokens  as  have 
appeared  of  it,  visible  maybe  to  no 
other  eyes  than  mine ;  but,  trust  me, 
Constance,  those  who  do  themselves 
know  what  'tis  to  love  with  an  engross- 
ing affection  are  quick  to  mark  the 
same  effects  in  others.  When  Phil  is 
in  the  room,  I  find  it  a  hard  matter  at 
times  to  restrain  mine  eyes  from  gaz- 
.  ing  on  that  dear  husband,  whom  I  do 
so  entirely  love  that  I  have  no  other 
pleasure  in  life  but  in  his  company. 
And  not  to  seem  to  him  or  to  others 
too  fond,  which  is  not  a  beseeming 
thing  even  in  a  wife,  I  study  to  con- 
ceal my  constant  thinking  on  him  by 
such  devices  as  cunningly  to  provoke 


others  to  speak  of  my  lord,  and  so  ap- 
pear only  to  follow  whereunto  my  own 
desire  doth  point,  or  to  propose  ques- 
tions,— a  pastime  wherein  he  doth 
excel, — and  so  minister  to  mine  own 
pride  in  him  without  direct  flattery,  or 
in  an  unbecommg  manner  setting  forth 
his  praise.  And  thus  I  do  grow 
learned  in  the  tricks  of  true  affection, 
and  to  perceive  in  such  as  are  in  love 
what  mine  own  heart  doth  teach  me  to 
be  the  signals  of  that  passion." 

So  far  my  lady  ;  and  not  long  after, 
on  the  first  day  of  February,  I  had  a 
note  from  her,  written  in  great  dis- 
traction of  mind  at  the  Charter  House, 
where  she  and  all  his  grace's  children 
had  returned  in  a  sudden  manner  on 
the  hearing  that  the  queen  had  issued 
a  warrant  for  the  duke's  execution  on 
the  next  Monday.  Preparations  were 
made  with  the  expectation  of  all  Lon- 
don, and  a  concourse  of  many  thou- 
sands to  witness  it,  the  tread  of  whose 
feet  was  heard  at  night,  like  to  the  roll 
of  mufiled  drums,  along  the  streets  ; 
but  on  the  Sunday,  late  in  the  night, 
the  queen's  majesty  entered  into  a 
great  misliking  that  the  duke  should 
die  the  next  day,  and  sent  an  order  to 
the  sheriffs  to  forbear  until  they  should 
hear  further.  His  grace's  mother,  the 
dowager  countess,  and  my  Lady 
Berkeley  his  sister  (now  indeed  lower- 
ing her  pride  to  most  humble  suppli- 
cation), and  my  Lord  Arundel  from 
his  sick-bed,  and  the  French  ambassa- 
dor, together  with  many  others,  sued 
with  singular  earnestness  to  her  ma- 
jesty for  his  life,  who,  albeit  she  had 
stayed  the  execution  of  his  sentence, 
would  by  no  means  recall  it.  I  hasted 
to  the  Charter  House,  Mistress  Ward 
going  with  me,  and  both  were  admitted 
into  her  ladyship's  chamber,  with  whom 
did  sit  that  day  the  fairest  picture  of 
grief  I  ever  beheld — the  Lady  Marga- 
ret Howard,  who  for  some  months  had 
resided  with  the  Countess  of  Sussex, 
who  was  a  very  good  lady  to  her  and 
all  these  afflicted  children.  Albeit 
Lady  Surrey  had  often  greatly  com- 
mended this  young  lady,  and  styled  her 
so  rare  a  piece  of  perfection  that  no  one 


Constance  Sherwood. 


85- 


could  know  and  not  admire  her,  the 
loveliness  of  her  face,  nobility  of  her 
figure,  and  attractiveness  of  her  man- 
ners exceeded  my  expectations.  The 
sight  of  these  sisters  minded  me  then  of 
what  Lady  Surrey  had  written  when 
they  were  yet  children,  touching  my 
Lord  Surrey,  styhng  them  "  two  twin 
cherries  on  one  stallc  ;"  and  methought, 
now  that  the  lovely  pair  had  ripened  into 
early  maturity,  their  Hkeness  in  beauty 
(tliough  differing  in  complexion)  justi- 
fied the  saying.  Lady  Margaret 
greeted  us  as  though  we  had  not  been 
strangers,  and  in  the  midst  of  her 
great  and  natural  sorrow  showed  a 
grateful  sense  of  the  share  we  did  take 
in  a  grief  which  methinks  was  deeper 
in  her  than  in  any  other  of  these 
mourners. 

Oh,  what  a  period  of  anxious  sus- 
pense did  follow  that  first  reprieve  ! 
what  alternations  of  hope  and  fear ! 
what  affectionate  letters  were  ex- 
changed between  that  loving  father 
and  good  master  and  his  sorrowful 
children  and  servants  ;  now  writing 
to  Mr.  Dyx,  his  faithful  steward  : 

"  Farewell,  good  Dyx  !  your  service 
hath  been  so  faithful  unto  me,  as  I  am 
sorry  that  I  cannot  make  proof  of  my 
good-will  to  recompense  it.  I  trust 
my  death  shall  make  no  change  in  you 
toward  mine,  but  that  you  will  faith- 
fully perform  the  trust  that  I  have  re- 
posed in  you.  Forget  me,  and  remem- 
ber me  in  mine.  Forget  not  to  counsel 
and  advise  Philip  and  Nan's  unexpe- 
rienced years ;  the  rest  of  their 
brothers'  and  sisters'  well-doing  resteth 
much  upon  their  virtuous  and  consid- 
erate dealings.  God  grant  them  his 
grace,  which  is  able  to  work  better  in 
them  than  my  natural  well-meaning 
heart  can  wish  unto  them.  Amen. 
And  so,  hoping  of  your  honesty  and 
faithfulness  when  I  am  dead,  I  bid 
you  this  ray  last  farewell.      T.  H." 

Now  to  another  trusty  friend  and 
nonest  dependent: 

"  Good  friend  George,  farewell.  I 
have  no  other  tokens  to  send  my 
friends  but  my  books  ;  and  I  know 


how  sorrowful  you  are,  amongst  the 
rest,  for  my  hard  hap,  whereof  I  thank 
God ;  because  I  hope  his  merciful 
chastisement  will  prepae'e  me  for  a 
better  world.  Look  well  throughout 
this  book,  and  you  shall  find  the  name 
of  duke  very  unhappy.  I  pray  God  it 
may  end  with  me,  and  that  others  may 
speed  better  hereafter.  But  if  I  might 
have  my  wish,  and  were  in  as  good  a 
state  as  ever  you  knew  me,  yet  I 
would  wish  for  a  lower  degree.  Be  a 
friend,  I  pray  you,  to  mine ;  and  do 
my  hearty  commendations  to  your 
good  wife  and  to  gentle  Mr.  Dennye. 
I  die  in  the  faith  that  you  have  ever 
known  me  to  be  of.  Farewell,  good 
friend. 

"Yours  dying,  as  he  was  living, 

"Norfolk." 

These  letters  and  some  others  did 
pass  from  hand  to  hand  in  that  afilict 
ed  house ;  and  sometimes  hope  and 
sometimes  despair  prevailed  in  the 
hearts  of  the  great  store  of  relatives 
and  friends  which  often  assembled 
there  to  confer  on  the  means  of  soften- 
ing the  queen's  anger  and  moving  her 
to  mercy ;  one  time  through  letters 
from  the  king  of  France  and  other 
princes,  which  was  an  ill  shot,  for  tc 
be  so  entreated  by  foreign  potentates 
did  but  inflame  her  majesty's  anger 
against  the  duke ;  at  others,  by  my 
Lord  Sussex  and  my  Lord  Arun- 
del, or  such  persons  in  her  court 
as  nearly  approached  her  high- 
ness and  could  deal  with  her  when 
she  was  merry  and  chose  to  conde- 
scend to  their  discourse.  But  the 
wind  shifts  not  oftener  than  did  the 
queen's  mind  at  that  time,  so  diverse 
were  her  dispositions  toward  this  no- 
bleman, and  always  opposed  to  such 
as  appeared  in  those  who  spoke  on 
this  topic,  whether  as  pressing  for  his 
execution,  or  suing  for  mercy  to  be 
extended  to  him.  I  heard  much  talk  , 
at  that  time  touching  his  grace's  good 
qualities :  how  noble  had  been  his 
spirit ;  how  moderate  his  disposition  ; 
how  plain  his  attire ;  how  bountiful 
his  alms. 


86 


Constance  Sherwood. 


As  the  fates  of  many  do  in  these 
days  hang  on  the  doom  of  one,  much 
eagerness  was  shown  amongst  those 
who  haunted  my  uncle's  house  to 
learn  the  news  afloat  concerning  the 
issue  of  the  duke's  affair.  Some  Cath- 
olics of  note  were  lying  in  prison  at 
that  time  in  Norwich,  most  of  them 
friends  of  these  gentlemen  ;  of  which 
four  were  condemned  to  death  at  that 
time,  and  one  to  perpetual  imprison- 
ment and  loss  of  all  his  property  for 
reconcilement ;  but  whilst  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk  was  yet  alive,  they  held  the 
hope  he  should,  if  once  out  of  prison, 
recover  the  queen's  favor  and  drive 
from  their  seats  his  and  their  mortal 
enemies,  my  L»rds  Burleigh  and  Lei- 
cester. And  verily  the  axe  was  held 
suspended  on  the  head  of  rtiat  duke 
for  four  months  and  more,  to  the  im- 
speakable  anguish  of  many ;  and, 
amongst  others,  his  aged  and  afflicted 
mother,  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Sur- 
rey, who  came  to  London  from  the 
country  to  be  near  her  son  in  this  ex- 
tremity. Three  times  did  the  queen 
issue  a  warrant  for  his  death  and  then 
recalled  it ;  so  that  those  trembling 
relatives  and  well-wishers  in  and  out 
of  his  house  did  look  each  day  to  hear 
the  fatal  issue  had  been  compassed. 
In  the  month  of  March,  when  her  ma- 
jesty was  sick  with  a  severe  inflamma- 
tion and  agonizing  pain,  occasioned, 
some  said,  by  poison  administered  by 
papists,  but  by  her  own  physicians 
declared  to  arise  from  her  contempt  of 
their  prescriptions,  there  was  a  strange 
turmoil,  I  ween,  in  some  men's  breasts, 
albeit  silent  as  a  storm  brewing  on  a 
sultry  day.  Under  their  breath,  and 
with  faces  shaped  to  conceal  the  wish 
which  bred  the  inquiry,  they  asked  of 
the  queen's  health  ;  whilst  others  tore 
their  hair  and  beat  their  breasts  with 
no  affected  grief,  and  the  most  part  of 
the  people  lamented  her  danger.  Oh, 
what  five  days  were  those  when  the 
shadow  of  death  did  hover  over  that 
royal  couch,  and  men's  hearts  failed 
them  for  fear,  or  else  wildly  whispered 
hopes  such  as  they  durst  not  Mtter 
aloud, — ^not   so    much   as  to   a  close 


friend, — lest  the  walls  should  have 
ears,  or  the  pavement  open  under 
their  feet !  My  God,  in  thy  hands  lie 
the  issues  of  life  and  death.  Thou  dost 
assign  to  each  one  his  space  of  exist- 
tence,  his  length  of  days.  Thy  ways 
are  not  as  our  ways,  nor  thy  thoughts  as 
our  thoughts.  She  lived  who  was  yet 
to  doom  so  many  princely  heads  to  the 
block,  so  many  saintly  forms  to  the 
dungeon  and  the  rack.  She  lived 
whose  first  act  was  to  stretch  forth  a 
hand  yet  weakened  by  sickness  to  sign, 
a  fourth  time,  a  warrant  for  a  kins- 
man's death,  and  once  again  recalled 
it.  Each  day  some  one  should  come 
in  with  various'  reports  touching  the 
queen's  dispositions.  Sometimes  she 
had  been  heard  to  opine  that  her  dan- 
gers from  her  enemies  were  so  great 
that  justice  must  be  done.  At  others 
she  vehemently  spoke  of  the  nearness 
of  blood  to  herself,  of  the  superiority 
in  honor  of  this  duke ;  and  once  she 
wrote  to  Lord  Burleigh  (a  copy  of 
this  letter  Lord  Surrey  saw  in  Lord 
Oxford's  hands),  "that  she  was  more 
beholden  to  th-a  hinder  part  of  her 
head  than  she  dared  trust  the  forward 
part  of  the  same ; "  and  expressed 
great  fear  lest  an  irrevocable  deed 
should  be  committed.  But  she  would 
not  see  Lord  Surrey,  or  suffer  him  to 
plead  in  person  for  his  father's  life. 
Yet  there  were  good  hopes  amongst 
his  friends  he  should  yet  be  released, 
till  one  day — I  mind  it  well,  for  I 
was  sitting  with  Lady  Surrey,  reading 
out  loud  to  her,  as  I  was  often  used  to 
do — my  Lord  Berkeley  burst  into  the 
chamber,  and  cried,  throwing  his 
gloves  on  the  table  and  swearing  a 
terrible  oath: 

"  That  woman  has  undone  us  ! " 
'•  What,  the  queen  ?  "  said  my  lady, 
white  as  a  smock. 

"  Verily  a  queen,"  he  answered 
gloomily.  "  I  warrant  you  the  Queen 
of  Scots  hath  ended  as  she  did  begin, 
and  dragged  his  grace  into  a  pit  from 
whence  1  promise  you  he  will  never 
now  rise.  A  letter  writ  in  her  cipher 
to  the  Duke  of  Alva  hath  been  inter- 
cepted, in    which  that   luckless  royal 


Constance  SJierwood. 


87 


wight,  ever  fatal  to  her  friends  as  to 
herself,  doth  say,  'that  she  hath  a 
strong  party  in  England,  and  lords 
who  favor  her  cause ;  some  of  whom, 
albeit  prisoners,  so  powerful,  that  the 
Queen  of  England  should  not  dare  to 
touch  their  lives.'  Alack!  those 
words,  '  should  not  dare,*  shall  prove 
the  death-warrant  of  my  noble  brother. 
Cursed  be  the  day  when  he  did  get 
entangled  in  that  popish  siren's  plots  !" 

"  Speak  not  harshly  of  her,  good  my 
lord,"  quoth  Lady  Surrey,  in  her  gen- 
tle voice.  "  Her  sorrows  do  bear  too 
great  a  semblance  to  our  own  not  to 
bespeak  from  us  patience  in  this  mis- 
hap." 

"  Nan,"  said  Lord  Berkeley,  "  thou 
art  of  too  mild  a  disposition.  'Tis  the 
only  fault  I  do  find  with  thee.  Be- 
shrew  me,  if  my  wife  and  thee  could 
not  make  exchange  of  some  portion 
of  her  spirit  and  thy  meekness  to  the 
advantage  of  both.  I  warrant  thee 
Phil's  wife  should  hold  a  tiglit  hand 
over  him." 

"  I  read  not  that  precept  in  the  Bible, 
my  lord,"  quoth  she,  smiling.  '-It 
speaketh  roundly  of  the  duty  of  wives 
to  obey,  but  not  so  much  as  one  word 
of  their  ruling." 

"  Thou  hadst  best  preach  thy  theo- 
logy to  my  Lady  Berkeley,"  he  answer- 
ed ;  "  and  then  she — " 

"  But  I  pray  you,  my  lord,  is  it  in- 
deed your  opinion  that  the  queen  will 
have  his  grace's  life  ?" 

"I  should  not  give  so  much  as  a 
brass  pin.  Nan,  for  his  present  chance 
of  mercy  at  her  hands,"  he  replied 
sadly.  And  his  words  were  justified 
in  the  event. 

Those  relentless  enemies  of  the 
duke,  my  Lords  Burleigh  and  Leices- 
ter,— who,  at  the  time  of  the  queen's 
illness,  had  stood  three  days  and  three 
nights  without  stirring  from  her  bed- 
side in  so  great  terror  lest  she  should 
die  and  he  should  compass  the  throne 
through  a  marriage  with  the  Queen  of 
Scots,  that  they  vowed  to  have  his 
blood  at  any  cost  if  her  majesty  did 
recover, — so  dealt  with  parliament  as 
to  move  it  to  send  a  petition  praying 


that,  for  the  safety  of  her  highness  and 
the  quieting  of  her  realm,  he  should  be 
forthwith  executed.  And  from  that 
day  to  the  mournful  one  of  his  death, 
albeit  from  the  great  reluctance  her 
majesty  had  evinced  to  have  him  de- 
spatched, his  friends,  yea  unto  the  last 
moment,  lived  in  expectancy  of  a 
reprieve ;  he  himself  made  up  his 
mind  to  die  with  extraordinary  forti- 
tude, not  choosing  to  entertain  so  much 
as  the  least  hope  of  life. 

One  day  at  that  time  I  saw  my  Lady 
Margaret  mending  some  hose,  and  at 
each  stitch  she  made  with  her  needle 
tears  fell  from  her  eyes.  I  offered  to 
assist  her  ladyship;  but  she  said, 
pressing  the  hose  to  her  heart,  "  I  thank 
thee,  good  Constance;  but  no  other 
hands  than  mine  shall  put  a  stitch  in 
these  hose,  for  they  be  my  father's, 
who  hath  worn  them  with  these  holes 
for  many  months,  till  poor  Master  Dyx 
bethought  himself  to  bring  them  here  to 
be  patched  and  mended,  which  task 
I  would  have  none  perform  but  my- 
self. My  father  would  not  suffer  him 
to  procure  a  new  pair,  lest  it  should 
be  misconstrued  as  a  sign  of  his  hope 
or  desire  of  a  longer  life,  and  with  the 
same  intent  he  refuseth  to  eat  flesh  as 
often  as  the  physicians  do  order ;  'for,' 
quoth  he,  '  why  should  I  care  to  nour- 
ish a  body  doomed  to  such  near  dtv 
cay  ? ' "  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  said, 
"  He  will  not  wear  clothes  which  have 
any  velvet  on  them,  being,  he  saith, 
a  condemned  person." 

Lady  Surrey  took  one  of  the  hose 
in  her  hand,  but  Lady  Margeret,  with  a 
filial  jealousy,  sadly  smiling,  shook  her 
head :  "  Nay,  Nan,"  quoth  she,  ''  not 
even  to  thee,  sweet  one,  ^\i\\  I  yield 
one  jot  or  tittle  of  this  mean,  but,  in  re- 
lation to  him  w^ho  doth  own  these  poor 
hose,  exalted  labor."  Then  she  ask- 
ed her  sister  if  she  had  heard  of  the 
duke's  request  that  Mr.  Fox,  his  old 
schoolmaster,  should  attend  on  him  in 
the  Tower,  to  whom  he  desired  to  pro- 
fess that  faith  he  did  first  ground  him 
in. 

And  my  Lady    Surrey  answ^ercd  1 
yea,  that  my  lord  had  informed  her  of 


88 


Constance  Sherwood, 


it,  ar.d  many  other  proofs  beside  that 
his  grace  sought  to  prepare  for  death 
in  the  best  manner  he  could  think  of. 

"  Some  ill-disposed  persons  have 
said,"  quoth  Lady  Margaret,  "  that  it 
is  with  the  intent  to  propitiate  the 
queen  that  my  father  doth  show  him- 
self to  be  so  settled  in  his  religion, 
and  that  he  is  not  Avhat  he  seems ;  but 
tis  a  slander  on  his  grace,  who  hath 
been  of  this  way  of  thinking  since  he 
attained  to  the  age  of  reason,  and  was 
never  at  any  time  reconciled,  as  some 
have  put  forth." 

This  was  the  last  time  I  did  see 
these  afflicted  daughters  until  long 
after  their  father's  death,  who  was  be- 
headed in  the  chapel  of  the  Tower 
shortly  afterward.  "When  the  blow 
fell  which,  striking  at  him,  struck  a  no 
less  fatal  blow  to  the  peace  and  well-do- 
ing of  his  children,  they  all  left  the  Char- 
ter House,  and  removed  for  a  time  into 
the  country,  to  the  houses  of  divers  re- 
latives, in  such  wise  as  before  his  death 
the  duke  had  desired  A  letter  which 
I  received  from  Lady  Surrey  a  few 
weeks  after  she  left  London  doth  best 
serve  to  show  the  manner  of  this  dis- 
posal, and  the  temper  of  the  writer's 
mind  at  that  melancholy  time. 

"My  own  dear  Constance, — It 
may  like  you  to  hear  that  your  afflict- 
ed friend  is  improved  in  bodily  health, 
and  somewhat  recovered  from  the 
great  suffering  of  mind  which  the  duke, 
their  good  father's  death,  has  caused 
to  all  his  poor  children — mostly  to 
Megg  and  Phil  and  me ;  for  their 
brothers  and  my  sister  are  too  young 
greatly  to  grieve.  My  Lord  Arundel 
.is  sorely  afflicted,  I  hear,  and  hath 
writ  a  very  lamentable  letter  to  our 
good  Lady  Sussex  concerning  this  sad 
mishap.  My  Lady  Berkeley  and  my 
Lady  Westmoreland  are  almost  dis- 
tracted with  grief  for  the  death  of  a 
brother  they  did  singularly  love.  That 
poor  lady  (of  Westmoreland)  is  much 
to  be  pitied,  for  that  she  is  parted  from 
her  husband,  maybe  for  ever,  and  has 
lost  two  fair  daughters  in  one  year. 

"  My  lord  hath  shown  much  affec- 


tion for  his  father,  and  natural  sorn  \v 
in  this  sad  loss ;  and  when  his  last  letters 
written  a. short  time  before  he  suffered, 
and  addressed  '•  To  my  loving  chil- 
dren," specially  the  one  to  Philip  and 
Nan,  reached  his  hands,  he  wept  so  long 
and  bitterly  that  it  seemed  as  if  his 
tears  should  never  cease.  My  lord  ia 
forthwith  to  make  his  chief  abode  at 
Cambridge  for  a  year  or  two  ;  and 
Meg  and  I,  with  Lady  Sussex,  and  I 
do  hope  Bess  also — albeit  his  grace 
doth  appear  in  his  letter  to  be  other- 
wise minded.  But  methinks  he  ap- 
prehended to  lay  too  heavy  a  charge 
on  her,  who  is  indeed  a  good  lady  to  us 
all  in  this  our  unhappy  condition,  and 
was  loth  Megg  should  be  out  of  my 
company. 

"  The  parting  with  my  lord  is  a  sore 
trial,  and  what  I  had  not  looked  to  ; 
but  God's  will  be  done  ;  and  if  it  be 
for  the  advantage  of  his  soul,  as  well 
as  the  advancement  of  his  learning, 
he  should  reside  at  the  university,  it 
should  ill  befit  me  to  repine.  And 
now  methinks  I  will  transcribe,  if  my 
tears  do  not  hinder  mc,  his  grace's  le!;- 
ters,  which  will  inform  thee  of  his  last 
wishes  better-  tjian  I  could  explain 
them  ;  for  I  would  have  thee  know 
how  tender  and  forecasting  Avas  his 
love  for  us,  and  the  good  counsel  ho 
hath  left  unto  his  son,  who,  I  pray  to 
God,  may  always  follow  it.  And  I 
would  have  thee  likewise  note  one 
point  of  his  advice,  which  indeed  I 
should  have  been  better  contented  he 
had  not  touched  upon,  forasmuch  as 
his  having  done  so  must  needs  hinder 
that  which  thy  fond  love  for  my  poor 
self,  and  resolved  adherence  to  what 
he  calls  '  blind  papistry,'  doth  so 
greatly  prompt  thee  to  desire  ;  for  if 
on  his  blessing  he  doth  charge  us  to  be- 
ware of  it,  and  then  I  should  move  my 
lord  to  so  much  neglect  of  his  last  wish- 
es as  at  any  time  to  be  reconciled,  b'"- 
think  thee  with  what  an  ill  grace  I 
should  urge  on  him,  in  other  respects, 
obedience  to  his  commands,  which  in- 
deed are  such  as  do  commend  them- 
selves to  any  Christian  soul  as  most 
wise  and  profitable.     And  now,  break- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


89 


ing  off  mine  own  discourse  to  tran- 
scribe Ills  words — a  tar  more  noble 
and  worthy  employment  of  jny  pen — 
and  praying  God  to  bless  thee,  I  re- 
main thy  tender  and  loving  friend, 
"Ann  Surrey." 

"  The  Duke  of  Norfolk's  letters  to 
his  children  : 

"  Dear  Children, — This  is  the  last 
letter  that  ever  I  think  to  write  to  you ; 
and  therefore,  if  you  loved  me,  or  that 
you  will  seem  grateful  to  me  for  the 
special  love  that  I  have  ever  borne 
unto  you,  then  remember  and  follow 
these  my  last  lessons.  Oh,  Philip, 
serve  and  fear  God,  above  all  things. 
I  find  the  fault  in  myself,  that  I  have 
(God  forgive  mo  !)  been  too  negligent 
in  this  point.  Love  and  make  much 
of  your  wife  ;  for  therein,  considering 
the  great  adversity  you  are  now  in,  by 
reason  of  my  fall,  is  your  greatest 
present  comfort  and  relief,  beside 
your  happiness  in  having  a  wife  which 
is  endued  with  so  great  towardness 
in  virtue  and  good  qualities,  and  in 
person  comparable  wdth  the  best  sort. 
Follow  these  two  lessons,  and  God  will 
bless  you  ;  and  without  these,  as  you  may 
see  by  divers  examples  out  of  the  Scrip- 
ture, and  also  by  ordinary  worldly 
proof,  where  God  is  not  feared,  all  goeth 
to  wreck ;  and  where  love  is  not  between 
the  husband  and  wife,  there  God  doth  not 
prosper.  My  third  lesson  is,  that  you 
show  yourself  loving  and  natural  to 
your  brothers  and  sister  and  sister-in- 
law.  Though  you  be  vory  young  in 
years,  yet  you  must  strive  with  con- 
sideration to  become  a  man  ;  for  it  is 
your  own  presence  and  good  govern- 
ment of  yourself  that  must  get  friends  ; 
and  if  you  take  that  course,  then  have 
I  been  so  careful  a  father  unto  you, 
as  I  have  taken  such  order  as  you,  by 
God's  grace,  shall  be  well  able,  be- 
side your  wife's  lands,  to  maintain 
yourself  like  a  gentleman.  Marry! 
the  world  is  greedy  and  covetous;  and 
if  the  show  of  the  well  government  of 
yourself  do  not  fear  and  restrain  their 
greedy  appetite,  it  is  like  that,  by  undi- 
rect  means,  they  will  either  put  you 


from  that  which  law  layeth  upon  you, 
or  else  drive  you  to  much  tiouble  in 
trying  and  holding  your  right.  When 
my  grandfather  died,  I  was  not  much 
above  a  year  elder  than  you  are  now 
and  yet,  I  thank  God,  I  took  such  or- 
der with  myself,  as  you  shall  reap  the 
commodity  of  my  so  long  passed  travel, 
if  you  do  now  imitate  the  like.  Help 
to  strengthen  your  young  an,]  raw 
years  with  good  counsel.  I  send  you 
herewith  a  brief  schedule,  whom  I  wish 
you  to  make  account  of  as  friends,  and 
whom  as  servants  ;  and  I  charge  you, 
as  a*  father  may  do,  to  follow  my  di- 
rection therein ;  my  experience  can 
better  tell  what  is  fit  for  you  than  your 
young  years  can  judge  of.  I  would 
wish  you  for  the  present  to  make  your 
chief  abode  at  Cambridge,  which  is  the 
place  fittest  for  you  to  promote  your 
learning  in ;  and  beside,  it  is  not  very 
far  hence,  whereby  you  may,  within  a 
day's  warning,  be  here  to  follow  your 
own  causes,  as  occasion  serveth.  If, 
after  a  year  or  two,  you  spend  somc^ 
time  in  a  house  of  the  law,  there  is 
nothing  that  will  prove  more  to  youi 
commodity,  considering  how  for  the 
time  you  shall  have  continual  business 
about  your  own  law  affairs  ;  and  there- 
by also,  if  you  spend  your  time  well, 
you  shall  be  ever  after  better  able  to 
judge  in  your  own  causes.  I  too  late 
repent  that  I  followed  not  this  course 
that  now  I  wish  to  you  ;  for  if  I  had, 
then  my  case  perchance  had  not  been 
in  so  ill  state  as  now  it  is. 

"  When  God  shall  send  you  to  those 
years  as  that  it  shall  be  fit  for  you  to 
keep  house  with  your  wife  (which  I 
had  rather  were  sooner,  than  that  yon 
should  fall  into  ill  company),  then  1 
would  wish  you  to  withdraw  yourself 
into  some  private  dwelling  of  your  own. 
And  if  your  hap  may  be  so  good  as 
you  may  so  live  without  being  called 
to  higher  degree,  oh,  Philip,  Philip, 
then  shall  you  enjoy  that  blessed  life 
which  your  woful  father  would  fain 
have  done,  and  never  could  be  so  haj)- 
py.  Beware  of  high  degree.  To  a 
vain-glorious,  proud  stomach  it  seem- 
etli  at  the  first  sweet.      Look  into  all 


90 


Constance  Sherwood. 


chronicles,  and  you  shall  find  that  in 
the  end  it  brings  heaps  of  cares,  toils 
m  the  state,  and  most  commonly  in  the 
end  utter  overthrow.  Look  into  the 
whole  state  of  the  nobility  in  times  past, 
and  into  their  state  now,  and  then  judge 
whether  my  lessons  be  true  or  no. 
Assure  yourself,  as  you  may  see  by 
the  book  of  my  accounts,  and  you  shall 
find  that  my  living  did  hardly  main- 
tain my  expenses ;  for  all  the  help 
that  I  had  by  Tom's  lands,  and  some- 
what by  your  wife's  and  sister's-in-law, 
I  was  ever  a  beggar.  You  may,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  be  a  great  deal  rich- 
er and  quieter  in  your  low  degree, 
wherein  I  once  again  wish  you  to  con- 
tinue. They  may,  that  shall  wish  you 
the  contrary,  have  a  good  meaning; 
but  believe  your  father,  who  of  love 
wishes  you  best,  and  with  the  mind 
that  he  is  at  this  present  fully  armed 
to  God,  who  sees  both  states,  both  high 
and  low,  as  it  were  even  before  his  eyes. 
Beware  of  the  court,  except  it  be  to  do 
your  prince  service,  and  that,  as  near 
as  you  can,  in  the  lowest  degree,  for 
that  place  hath  no  certainty ;  either  a 
man,  by  following  thereof,  hath  too 
much  of  worldly  pomp,  which,  in  the 
end,  throws  him  down  headlong,  or  else 
he  liveth  there  unsatisfied ;  either  that 
he  cannot  attain  for  himself  that  he 
would,  or  else  that  he  cannot  do  for 
his  friends  as  his  heart  desireth.  Re- 
member these  notes,  and  follow  them ; 
and  then  you,  by  God's  help,  shall 
reap  the  commodity  of  them  in  your 
old  years. 

"  If  your  brothers  may  be  suffered 
to  remain  in  your  company,  I  would 
be  most  glad  thereof,  because  continu- 
ing together  should  still  increase  love 
between  you.  But  the  world  is  so 
catching  of  everything  that  falls,  that 
Tom  being,  as  I  believe,  after  my 
death,  the  queen's  majesty's  ward,  shall 
be  begged  by  one  or  another.  But 
yet  you  are  sure  to  have  your  brother 
William  left  still  with  you,  because, 
poor  boy,  he  hath  nothing  to  feed  cor- 
morants withal ;  to  whom  you  will  as 
well  be  a  father  as  a  brother ;  for  up- 
on my  blessing  I  commit  him  to  your 


charge  to  provide  for,  if  that  which  I 
have  assured  him  by  law  shall  not 
be  so  sufficient  as  I  mean  it.  If  law 
may  take  place,  your  sister-in-law  will 
be  surely  enough  conveyed  to  his  be- 
hoof, and  then  I  should  wish  her  to  be 
brought  up  with  some  friend  of  mine  ; 
as  for  the  present  I  allow  best  of  Sir 
Christopher  Heydon,  if  he  will  so 
much  befriend  you  as  to  receive  her  to 
sojourn  with  him  ;  if  not  there  in  some 
other  place,  as  your  friends  shall  best 
allow  of.  And  touching  the  bestowing 
of  your  wife  and  Megg,  who  I  would 
be  loth  should  be  out  of  your  wife's 
company  ;  for  as  she  should  be  a  good 
companion  for  Nan,  so  I  commit  Megg 
of  especial  trust  to  her.  I  think  good, 
till  you  keep  house  together,  if  my 
Lady  of  Sussex  might  be  entreated  to 
take  them  to  her  as  sojourners,  there 
were  no  place  so  fit  considering  her 
kindred  unto  you,  and  the  assured 
friend  that  I  hope  you  shall  find  of  her; 
beside  she  is  a  good  lady.  If  it  will 
not  be  so  brought  to  pass,  then,  by  the 
advice  of  your  fi4ends,  take  some  other 
order;  but  in  no  case  I  would  wish 
you  to  keep  any  house  except  it  be  to- 
gether with  your  wife. 

"Thus  I  have  advised  you  as  my 
troubled  memory  can  at  present  suffer 
me.  Beware  of  pride,  stubbornness, 
taunting,  and  suUenness,  which  vices 
nature  doth  somewhat  kindle  in  you  i 
and  therefore  you  must  with  reason 
and  discretion  make  a  new  nature 
in  yourself.  Give  not  your  mind  too 
much  and  too  greedily  to  gaming; 
make  a  pastime  of  it,  and  no  toil. 
And  lastly,  delight  to  spend  some  timo 
in  reading  of  the  Scriptures  ;  for  there- 
in is  the  whole  comfort  of  man's  life ; 
all  other  things  are  vain  and  transi- 
tory ;  and  if  you  be  diligent  in  reading 
of  them,  they  will  remain  with  you 
continually,  to  your  profit  and  com- 
modity in  this  world,  and  to  your  com- 
fort and  salvation  in  the  world  to  come, 
whither,  in  grace  of  God,  I  am  now 
with  joy  and  consolation  preparing 
myself.  And,  upon  my  blessing,  be- 
ware of  blind  papistry,  which  brings 
nothing  but   bondage  to  men's    con- 


Oons'ance  Sherwood. 


9i 


sciences.  Mix  your  prayers  with  fast- 
ing, not  thinking  there])y  to  mel'it ;  for 
there  is  nothing  that  we  ourselves  can 
do  that  is  good, — we  arc  but  unprofit- 
able servants  ;  but  fast,  I  say,  thereby 
to  tame  the  Avickcd  affection  of  the 
mind,  and  trust  only  to  be  saved  by 
Christ's  precious  blood ;  for  without  a 
perfect  faith  therein,  there  is  no  salva- 
tion. Let  works  follow  your  faith ; 
thereby  to  show  to  the  world  that  you 
do  not  only  say  you  have  faith,  but 
that  you  give  testimony  thereof  to  the 
full  satisfaction  of  the  godly.  I  write 
somewhat  the  more  herein,  because 
perchance  you  have  heretofore  heard, 
or  perchance  may  hereafter  hear,  false 
bruits  that  I  was  a  papist ;  *  but  trust 
unto  it,  I  never,  since  I  knew  what  re- 
ligion meant  (I  thank  God)  was  of 
other  mind  than  now  you  shall  hear 
that  I  die  in;  although  (I  cry  God 
mercy)  I  have  not  given  fruits  and 
testimony  of  my  faith  as  I  ought  to 
have  done ;  the  which  is  the  thing  that 
I  do  now  chiefliest  repent. 

'•  When  I  am  gone,  forget  my  con- 
demning, and  forgive,  I  charge  you,  my 
false  accusers,  as  I  protest  to  God  I 
do  ;  but  have  nothing  to  do  with  them 
if  they  live.  Surely,  Bannister  dealt 
no  way  but  honestly  and  truly.  Hick- 
ford  did  not  hurt  me  in  my  conscience, 
willingly  ;  nor  did  not  charge  me  with 
any  great  matter  that  was  of  weight 
otherways  than  truly.  But  the  Bishop 
of  Ross,  and  specially  Barber,  did 
falsely  accuse  me,  and  laid  their  own 
treasons  upon  my  back.  God  forgive 
them,  and  I  do,  and  once  again  I  will 
you  to  do ;  bear  no  malice  in  your 
mind.  And  now,  dear  Philip,  fare- 
well. Read  this  my  letter  sometimes 
over;  it  may  chance  make  you  re- 
member yourself  the  better ;  and  by 

*  There  would  seem  to  be  no  doubt  that  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk  was  a  sincere  Protestant.  The 
strenuous  advice  to  his  children  to  beware  of 
Poper}'  aflbrds  evidence  of  it.  Greatly,  however, 
as  it  would  have  tended  to  their  worldly  pros- 
perity to  have  followed  their  father's  last  injunc- 
tions in  this  respect,  all  but  one  of  those  he  thus 
counselled  were  subsequently  reconciled  to  the 
Catholic  Church. 

The  Duke's  letters  in  this  chapter  are  all 
authentic.  See  the  Rev.  M.  Tierney's  History  of 
Arundel,  and  the  Appendix  to  Nott's  edition  of 
Lord  Surrey'o  poems. 


the  same,  when  your  father  is  dead  and 
rotten,  you  may  see  what  counsel  I 
would  give  you  if  I  were  alive.  If 
you  follow  these  admonitions,  there  is 
no  doubo  but  God  will  bless  you  ;  and 
I,  your  earthly  father,  do  give  you 
God's  blessing  and  mine,  with  my 
humble  prayers  to  Almighty  God  that 
it  will  please  him  to  bless  you  and  your 
good  Nan  ;  that  you  may  both,  if  it  be 
his  will,  see  your  children's  children, 
to  the  comfort  of  you  both  ;  and  after- 
ward that  you  may  be  partakers  of 
the  heavenly  kingdom.  Amen,  amen. 
Written  by  the  hand  of  your  loving 
father.  T.  H." 

"  And  to  Tom  his  grace  did  write  : 
"  Tom,  out  of  this  that  I  have  writ- 
ten to  your  brother,  you  may  learn 
such  lessons  as  are  fit  for  you.  That 
I  write  to  one,  that  I  write  to  all,  ex- 
cept it  be  somewhat  which  particularly 
touches  any  of  you.  To  fear  and 
serve  God  is  generally  to  you  all ;  and, 
on  my  blessing,  take  greatest  care 
thereof,  for  it  is  the  foundation  of  all 
goodness.  You  have,  even  from  your 
mfancy,  been  given  to  be  stubborn. 
Beware  of  that  vice,  Tom,  and  bridle 
nature  with  wisdom.  Though  you  be 
her  majesty's  ward,  yet  if  you  use 
yourself  well  to  my  Lord  Burleigh,  he 
will,  I  hope,  help  you  to  buy  your  own 
wardship.  Follow  your  elder  brother's 
advice,  who,  I  hope,  will  take  such  a 
course  as  may  be  to  all  your  comforts. 
God  send  him  grace  so  to  do,  and  to 
you  too !  I  give  you  God's  blessing 
and  mine,  and  I  hope  he  will  prosper 
you." 

"  And  to  Will  he  saith  (whom  me- 
thinks  his  heart  did  inchne  to,  as 
Jacob's  did  to  Benjamhi)  : 

"  Will,  though  you  be  now  young, 
yet  I  hope,  if  it  shall  please  God  to 
send  you  life,  that  you  will  then  con 
sider  of  the  precepts  heretofore  written 
to  your  brethren.  I  have  committed 
the  charge  of  your  bringlng-up  to  your 
elder  brother ;  and  therefore  I  charge 
you  to  be  obedient  to  him,  as  you 
would  have  been  to  me  if  I  had  been 


92 


Constance  Sherwood. 


living.  If  you  shall  lia  ve  a  liking  to  my 
daiighter-in-law,  Besc  Dacres,  I  hope 
you  shall  have  it  in  your  own  choice 
to  marry  Jier.  I  will  not  advise  you 
otherways  than  yourself,  when  you  are 
of  fit  years,  sliall  think  good ;  but  this 
assure  yourself,  it  will  be  a  good 
augmentation  to  your  small  living, 
considering  how  chargeable  the  world 
groweth  to  be.  As  you  are  youngest, 
so  the  more  you  ought  to  be  obedient 
to  your  elders.  God  send  you  a  good 
younger  brother's  fortune  in  this  world, 
and  his  grace,  that  you  may  ever  be 
his,  both  in  this  w^orld  and  in  the  world 
to  come." 

"To  me,  his  unworthy  daughter, 
were  these  lines  written,  which  I  be 
ashamed  to  transcribe,  but  that  his 
goodness  doth  appear  in  his  good 
opinion  of  me  rather  than  my  so  poor 
merits : 

"  Well-beloved  Nan,  that  hath  been 
as  dear  to  me  as  if  you  had  been  my 
own  daughter,  although,  considering 
this  ill  hap  that  has  now  chanced,  you 
might  have  had  a  greater  marriage 
than  now  your  husband  shall  be ;  yet 
I  hope  that  you  will  remember  that, 
when  you  were  raarried,  the  case  was 
far  otherways ;  and  therefore  I  hope 
your  dutiful  dealings  shall  be  so  to 
your  husband,  and  your  sisterly  love 
to  your  brothers-in-law  and  sister-in- 
law,  as  my  friends  that  shall  see  it  may 
think  that  my  great  affection  to  you 
was  well  bestowed.  Thanks  be  to  God, 
you  have  hitherto  taken  a  good  course  ; 
whereby  all  that  wish  you  well  take 
great  hope  rather  of  your  going  for- 
ward therein  than  backward — which 
God  forbid  !  I  will  request  no  more  at 
your  hands,  now  that  I  am  gone,  in 
recompense  of  my  former  love  to  you, 
but  that  you  will  observe  my  three  les- 
sons: to  fear  and  serve  God,  flying 
idleness ;  to  love  faithfully  your  hus- 
band ;  and  to  be  kind  to  your  brothers 
and  sisters — specially  committing  to 
your  care  mine  only  daughter  Megg, 
hoping  that  you  will  not  be  a  sister- 
in-law  to  lier,  but  rather  a  natural 
Mister,  yea  even  a  very  mother ;  and 


that  as  I  took  care  for  the  well  be- 
stowing of  you,  so  you  will  take  care 
for  the  well  bestowing  of  her,  and  be  a 
continual  caller  on  your  husband  for 
the  same.  If  this  mishap  had  not 
chanced,  you  and  your  husband  might 
have  been  awhile  still  young,  and  I 
would,  by  God's  help,  have  supplied 
your  wants.  But  now  the  case  is 
changed,  and  you  must,  at  your  years 
of  fifteen,  attain  to  the  consideration 
and  discretion  of  twenty ;  or  else,  if 
God  send  you  to  live  in  your  age,  you 
shall  have  cause  to  repent  your  folly  in 
youth,  beside  the  endangering  the 
casting  away  of  those  who  do  wholly 
depend  upon  your  two  well-doings.  I 
do  not  mistrust  that  you  will  be  mmd- 
ful  of  my  last  requests  ;  and  so  doing 
God  bless  you,  and  send  you  to  be  old 
parents  to  virtuous  children,  which  is 
likeliest  to  be  if  you  give  them  good 
example.  Farewell!  for  this  is  the 
last  that  you  shall  ever  receive  from 
your  loving  father.  Farewell,  my 
dear  Nan  1" 

"And  to  his  own  sweet  Megg  lie 
subjoined  in  the  same  letter"  these 
words : 

"  Megg,  I  have,  as  you  see,  commit- 
ted you  to  your  loving  sister.  I  charge 
you  therefore,  upon  my  blessing,  that 
you  obey  her  in  all  things,  as  you 
would  do  me  or  your  own  mother,  if 
we  were  living ;  and  then  I  doubt  not 
but  by  her  good  means  you  shall  be  in 
fit  time  besto^ved  to  your  own  com- 
fort and  contentment.  Be  good; 
no  babbler,  and  ever  be  busied  and 
doing  of  somewhat;  and  give  your 
mind  to  reading  in  the  Bible  and  such 
other  good  books,  whereby  you  may 
learn  to  fear  God ;  and  so  you  shall 
prove,  by  his  help,  hereafter  the  better 
wife,  and  a  virtuous  woman  in  all  other 
respects.  Ifyou  follow  these  my  lessons, 
then  God's  blessing  and  mine  I  give  you, 
and  pray  that  you  may  both  live  and 
die  his  servant.     Amen." 

"When  I  read  these  letters,  and  my 
Lady  Surrey's  comments  upon  them, 
what   pangs  seized  my  heart!     Her 


Constance  Sherwood. 


95 


inesseiiger  was  awaiting  an  a^^- 
swcr,  which  he  said  must  be  brief, 
lor  he  had  to  ride  to  Bermondsey 
witli  a  message  for  my  Lord  Sus- 
sex, and  had  been  long  delayed 
in  the  city.  I  seized  a  pen,  and 
liastily  wrote  : 

"  Oh,  my  dear  ^nd  honored 
lady,  what  grief,  what  pain,  your 
letter  hath  caused  me  !  Forgive 
nie  if,  having  but  brief  time  in 
which  to  write  a  few  lines  by  your 
messenger,  I  dwell  not  on  the 
sorrow  which  doth  oppress  you, 
nor  on  the  many  excellences  ap- 
parent in  those  farewell  letters, 
which  give  token  of  so  great 
virtue  and  wisdom  in  the  writer, 
that  one  should  be  prompted  to 
exclaim  he  did  lack  but  one  thing 
to  be  perfect,  that  being  a  true 
faith, — but  rather  direct  my  an- 
swer to  that  passage  in  yours 
which  doth  work  in  me  such  re- 
gret, yea  such  anguish  of  heart,  as 
my  poor  words  can  ill  express. 
For  verily  there  can  be  no  greater 
danger  to  a  soul  than  to  be  lured 
from  the  profession  of  a  true 
Catholic  faith,  once  firmly  receiv- 
ed and  yet  inwardly  held,  by 
deceptive  arguments,  whereby  it 
<ioth  conceal  its  own  weakness 
under  the  garb  of  respect  for  the 
dead  and  duty  to  the  living.  For, 
I  pray  you,  mine  own  dear  lady, 
what  respect  and  what  duty  is 
owing  to  men  which  be  not  rather 
due  to  him  who  reads  the  heart, 
and  will  ask  a  strict  account  of 
such  as,  having  known  his  will, 
yet  have  not  done  it?  Believe 
me,  'tis  a  perilous  thing  to  do  evil 
that  good  may  come.  Is  it  possi- 
ble you  should  resolve  never  to 
]»rofess    that     religion    which,    in 


your  conscience,  you  do  believe  to 
be  true,  nor  to  move  your  lord 
thereunto,  for  any  human  respect,  * 
however  dear  and  sacred  ?  I  hope 
other  feelings  may  return,  and 
God's  hand  will  support,  uphold, 
and  never  fail  you  in  your  need. 
I  beseech  him  to  guard  and  keep 
you  in  the  right  way. 

*'  Your  humble  servant  and  truly 
loving  poor  friend, 

"  Constance  Sherwood." 


CHAPTER    XI. 

During  the  two  years  which 
followed  the  Duke  of  Norfolk's 
death,  I  did  only  see  my  Lady  Sur- 
rey once,  which  was  when  she 
cam€  to  Arundel  House,  on  a  visit 
to  her  lord's  grandfather  ;  and  her 
lettei's  for  a  while  were  both  scanty 
and  brief.  She  made  no  mention 
of  religion,  and  but  little  of  her 
husband;  and  chiefly  touched  on 
such  themes  as  Lady  Margaret's 
nuptials  with  Mr.  Sackville  (Lord 
Dorset's  heir)  and  Mistress  Mili- 
cent's  with  Sir  Hammond  I'Es- 
trange.  She  had  crreat  content- 
ment,  she  wrote,  to  see  them  both 
so  well  married  according  to  their 
degree ;  but  that  for  herself  she 
did  very  much  miss  her  good  sis- 
ter's company  and  her  gentle- 
woman's affectionate  services,  who 
would  now  reside  all  the  year  at 
her  husband's  seat  in  Norfolk  ;  but 
she  looked  when  my  lord  and  her- 
self should  be  at  Kenninghall,  when 
he  left  the  university,  that  they 
might  yet,  being  neighbors,  spend 
some  happy  days  together,  if  it  so 
pleased  God.     Once  she  wrote  in 


94 


Constance  Sherv'ood. 


exceeding  great  joy,  so  tliat  she 
said  she  hardly  knew  how  to  con- 
tain herself,  for  that  my  lord  was 
coming  in  a  few  days  to  sjjend  the 
long,  vacation  at  Lord  Sussex's 
house  at  Berraondsey.  But  when 
she  wrote  again,  methought — albeit 
her  letter  was  cheerful,  and  she 
did  jest  in  it  somewhat  more  than 
Avas  her  w^ont — that  there  was 
a  silence  touching  her  husband, 
and  her  own  contentment  in  his 
society,  which  betokened  a  reserve 
such  as  I  had  not  noticed  in  her 
before.  About  that  time  it  was 
bruited  in  London  that  my  Lord 
Surrey  had  received  no  small  detri- 
ment by  the  bad  example  he  had 
at  Cambridge,  and  the  liberty  per- 
mitted him. 

And  now,  forsaking  for  a  while 
the  theme  of  that  noble  pair, 
whose  mishaps  and  felicities  have 
ever  saddened  and  rejoiced  mine 
heart  almost  equally  with  mine 
own  good  or  evil  fortune,  I  here 
purpose  to  set  down  such  occur- 
rences as  should  be  worthy  of  note 
in  the  more  obscure  sphere  in  which 
my  lot  w^as  cast. 

When  I  was  about  sixteen,  my 
cousin  Kate  was  married  to  Mr. 
Lacy ;  first  in  a  secret  manner,  in 
the  night,  by  Mr.  Plasden,  a  priest, 
in  her  father's  library,  and  the 
next  day  at  the  parish  church  at 
Holborn.  Methinks  a  fairer  bride 
never  rode  to  church  than  our 
Kate.  Her  mother  went  with  her, 
which  was  the  first  time  she  had 
been  out  of  doors  for  a  long  space 
of  time,  for  she  feared  to  catch 
cold  if  the  wind  did  blow  from 
the  north  or  the  east ;  and  if  from 
the  south  she  feared  it  should  bring 
noxious  vapors  from  the  river; 
and  the  west,   infection    from   the 


city,  and  so  stayed  at  home  for 
greater  safety.  But  on  Kate's 
wedding  day  we  did  all  jjrotest  the 
wind  blew  not  at  all,  so  tliat  from 
no  quarter  of  the  sky  should  mis- 
chief arise ;  and  in  a  closed  litter, 
which  she  reckoned  to  be  safer 
than  a  coach,  she  consented  to  go 
to  church.         * 

"  Marry,  good  wife,"  cried  Mr. 
Congleton,  when  she  had  been 
magnifying  all  the  dangers  she 
mostly  feared,  "  thou  dost  forget 
the  greatest  of  all  in  these  days, 
which  doth  hold  us  all  by  the 
neck,  as  it  were.  For  hearing 
mass,  as  we  did  in  this  room  last 
night,  w^e  do  all  run  the  risk  of 
being  hanged,  which  should  be  a 
greater  peril  methinks  than  a 
breath  of  foul  air." 

She,  being  in  a  merry  mood,  re- 
plied :  "  Twittle  twattle,  Mr.  Con- 
gleton ;  the  one  may  be  avoided, 
the  other  not.  'Tis  no  reason  I 
should  get  a  cold  to-day  because  I 
be  like  to  be  hanged  to-morrow." 

"P  faith,"  cried  Polly,  ''my 
mother  hath  well  parried  your 
thrust,  sir ;  and  methinks  the  holy 
Bishop  of  Rochester  was  of  the 
same  mind  with  her." 

"How  so,  Polly?"  quoth  her 
her  father ;  and  she,  "  There  hap- 
pened a  false  rumor  to  rise  sudden- 
ly among  the  people  when  he  Avas 
in  the  prison,  so  I  have  heard 
Mr.  lloper  relate,  that  he  should 
be  brought  to  execution  on  a  cer- 
tain day  :  wherefore  his  cook,  that, 
was  wont  to  dress  his  dinner  and 
carry  it  daily  unto  him,  hearing  of 
his  execution,  dressed  him  no  din- 
ner at  all  that  day.  Wherefore, 
at  the  cook's  next  re2:)air  unto  hnii, 
he  demanded  the  cause  why  \\v 
brought  him  not  his  dinner.     '  Sir,' 


Constance  Sherwood. 


95 


said  tlie  cook,  '  it  was  commonly 
talked  all  over  the  town  that  you 
should  have  died  to-day,  and  there- 
fore I  thought  it  but  vain  to  dress 
anything  for  you.'  '  Well,'  quoth 
the  bishop  merrily,  'for  all  that 
report,  thou  seest  me  yet  alive ; 
and,  therefore,  whatsoever  news 
thou  shalt  hear  of  me,  hereafter, 
prithee  let  me  no  more  lack  my  din- 
ner, but  make  it  ready ;  and  if 
thou  see  me  dead  when  thou 
(5omest,  then  eat  it  thyself.  But  I 
promise  thee,  if  I  be  alive,  by 
God's  grace,  to  eat  never  a  bit  the 
less." 

"  And  on  the  day  he  was  verily 
executed,"  said  Mistress  Ward, 
"  when  the  lieutenant  came  to  fetch 
him,  he  said  to  his  man,  '  Reach  me 
my  furred  tippet,  to  put  about  my 
neck.'  '^O  my  lord!'  said  the 
lieutenant,  '  what  need  you  be  so 
careful  of  your  health  for  this  little 
time,  being  not  much  above  an 
hour  ?'  '  I  think  no  otherwise,' 
said  this  blessed  father  ;  'but  yet, 
m  the  meantime,  I  will  keep  my- 
self as  well  as  I  can  ;  for  I  tell  you 
truth,  though  I  have,  I  thank  our 
Lord,  a  very  good  desire  and  a 
willing  mind  to  die  at  this  present, 
and  so  I  trust  of  his  infinite  mercy 
and  goodness  he  will  continue  it, 
yet  I  will  not  willingly  hinder  my 
health  one  minute  of  an  hour,  but 
still  prolong  the  same  as  long  as  I 
can  by  such  reasonable  ways  as 
Almighty  God  hath  provided  for 
jtie.'  "  Upon  which  my  good  aunt 
fastened  her  veil  about  her  head, 
and  said  the  holy  bishop  was  the 
most  wise  saint  and  reasonablest 
martyr  she  had  yet  heard  of. 

Kate  was  dressed  in  a  kirtle  of 
white  silk,  her  head  attired  with 
an   habiliment    of    gold,    and    her 


hair,  brighter  itself  than  gold, 
woven  about  her  face  in  cunningly 
wrought  tresses.  She  was  led  t«> 
church  between  two  gentlemen — 
Mr.  Tresham  and  Mr.  Ilogdson — 
friends  of  the  bridegroom,  whu 
had  bride-laces  and  rosemary  tied 
about  their  silken  sleeves.  Theic 
was  a  fair  cup  of  silver  gilt  car- 
ried before  her,  wherein  was  a 
goodly  branch  of  rosemary,  gilded 
very  fair,  and  hung  about  witli 
silken  ribbons  of  all  colors.  Musi- 
cians •  came  next ;  then  a  group 
of  maidens  bearing  garlands  finely 
gilded ;  and  thus  we  passed  on  to 
the  church.  The  common  people 
at  the  door  cheered  the  bride, 
whose  fair  face  was  a  passport  to 
their  favor ;  but  as  Muriel  crept 
along,  leaning  on  my  arm,  I  caught 
sound  of  murmured  blessings. 

"  Sweet  saint,"  quoth  an  aged 
man,  leaning  on  his  staff",  near  the 
porch,  "  I  ween  thine  espousals  be 
not  of  earth."  A  woman,  with  a 
child  in  her  arms,  whispered  to  her 
as  she  past,  "  He  thou  knowest  of 
is  dead,  and  died  praying  for 
thee."  A  man  whose  eyes  ha<l 
watched  her  painfully  ascending 
the  steps,  called  her  an  angel; 
whereupon  a  beggar  with  a 
crutch  cried  out,  "Marry  a  lame 
angel !"  A  sweet  smile  was  on 
her  face  as  she  turned  toward  him ; 
and  drawing  a  piece  of  silver 
from  her  pocket,  she  bestowed  it 
on  him,  with  some  such  words  as 
these — that  she  prayed  they  might 
both  be  so  happy,  albeit  lame,  as 
to  hobble  to  heaveit,  and  get  there 
in  good  time,  if  it  should  please 
God.  Then  he  fell  to  blessing  her 
so  loud,  that  she  hurried  me  into 
the  church,  not  content  to  be 
thanked  in  so  public  a  manner. 


96 


Constance  Sherwood* 


After  the  ceremony,  we  returned  in 
the  same  order  to  Ely  Place.  The 
banquet  which  followed,  and  the  sports 
succeeding  it,  were  conducted  in  a 
private  and  somewhat  quiet  fashion, 
and  not  many  guests  invited,  by  rea- 
son of  the  times,  and  Mr.  Congleton 
misliking  to  draw  notice  to  his  house, 
which  had  hitherto  been  but  little  mo- 
lested, partly  for  that  Sir  Francis 
Walsingham  had  a  friendship  for  him, 
and  also  for  his  sister.  Lady  Egerton 
of  Ridley,  which  procured  for  them 
greater  favor,  in  the  way  of  toleration, 
than  is  extended  to  others  ;  and  like- 
wise the  Portuguese  ambassador  was 
his  very  good  friend,  and  his  chapel 
open  to  us  at  all  times ;  so  that 
priests  did  not  need  to  come  to  his 
house  for  the  performance  of  any  re- 
ligious actions,  except  that  one  of  the 
marriage,  which  had  taken  place  the 
night  before  in  his  library.  Howso- 
ever, he  was  very  well  known  to  be  a 
recusant,  for  that  neither  himself,  nor 
any  belonging  to  him,  attended  Pro- 
testant worship;  and  Sir  Francis 
sometimes  told  him  that  the  clemency 
with  which  he  was  treated  was  shown 
toward  him  with  the  hope  that,  by 
mild  courses,  he  might  be  soon  brought 
to  some  better  conformity. 

Mr.  Lacy's  house  was  in  Gray's 
Inn  Lane,  a  few  doors  from  Mr. 
Swithin  Wells's ;  and  through  this 
proximity  an  intimate  acquaintance- 
ship did  arise  between  that  worthy 
gentleman  and  his  w^ife  and  Kate's 
friends.  He  was  very  good-natured, 
pleasant  in  conversation,  courteous,  and 
generous;  and  Mrs.  Wells  a  most 
virtuous  gentlewoman.  Although  he 
(Mr.  Swithin)  much  delighted  in 
hawking,  hunting,  and  other  suchlike 
diversions,  yet  he  so  soberly  governed 
his  aflfections  therein,  as  to  be  content 
to  deprive  himself  of  a  good  part  of 
those  pleasures,  and  retire  to  a  more 
profitable  employment  of  training  up 
young  gentlemen  in  virtue  and  learn- 
ing ;  and  with  such  success  that 
liis  house  has  been,  as  it  were,  a  fruit- 
ful seminary  to  many  worthy  members 
of  the  Catholic  Church.     Among  the 


youag  gentlemen  who  resided  wiin 
him  at  that  time  was  Mr.  Hubert  Rook- 
wood,  the  youngest  of  the  two  sons 
of  Mr.  Rook  wood,  of  Euston,  whom  I 
had  seen  at  the  inn  at  Bedford,  when 
I  was  journeying  to  London.  We 
did  speedily  enter  into  a  somewhat 
close  acquaintanceship,  founded  on  a 
similarity  of  tastes  and  agreeable  in- 
terchange of  civihties,  touching  the 
lending  of  books  and  likewise  pieces 
of  music,  which  I  did  make  fair  copies 
of  for  him,  and  which  we  sometimes 
practiced  in  the  evening  ;  for  he  had  a 
pleasant  voice  and  an  aptness  to  catch 
the  trick  of  a  song,  albeit  unlearned 
in  the  art,  wherein  he  styled  me  pro- 
ficient ;  and  I,  nothing  loth  to  impart 
my  knowledge,  became  his  instructor, 
and  did  teach  him  both  to  sing  and 
play  the  lute.  He  was  not  much 
taller  than  when  I  had  seen  him  be- 
fore ;  but  his  figure  was  changed,  and 
his  visage  had  grown  pale,  and  his 
hair  thick  and  flowing,  especially  to- 
ward the  back  of  the  head,  discovering 
in  front  a  high  and  thoughtful  ibre- 
head.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  good 
young  company  at  that  time  in  Mr. 
Wells's  house ;  for  some  Catholics 
tabled  there  beside  those  that  were 
his  pupils,  and  others  resorted  to  it  by 
reason  of  the  pleasant  entertainment 
they  found  in  the  society  of  ingenuous 
persons,  well  qualified,  and  of  their 
own  religion.  I  had  most  days  op- 
portunities of  conversing  with  Hubert, 
though  we  were  never  alone  ;  and, 
by  reason  of  the  friendship  Avhicli  had 
existed  between  his  father  and  mine, 
I  allowed  him  a  kindness  I  did  not 
commonly  afford  to  others. 

Mr.  Lacy  had  had  his  training  in 
that  house,  and,  albeit  his  natural 
parts  did  not  title  him  to  the  praise  of 
an  eminent  scholar,  he  had  thence  de- 
rived a  great  esteem  for  learning,  a 
taste  for  books,  of  the  which  he  did 
possess  a  great  store  (many  hundred 
volumes),  and  a  discreet  manner  of 
talking,  though  something  tinctured 
with  affectation,  inasmuch  as  he  should 
seem  to  be  rather  enamored  of  the 
words  he  uttered,  than  careful  of  the 


Constance  Sherwood. 


97 


substance.  Hubert  was  wont  to  say 
that  his  speech  was  hke  to  the  drawing 
of  a  leaden  sword  out  of  a  gilded 
sheath.  He  was  a  very  virtuous 
young  man  ;  and  his  wife  had  never 
but  one  complaint  to  set  forth,  which 
was  that  his  books  took  up  so  much  of 
his  time  that  she  was  almost  as  jeal- 
ous of  them  as  if  they  had  been  her 
rivals.  She  would  have  it  he  did  kill 
himself  with  study  ;  and,  in  a  partic- 
ular manner,  with  the  writing  of  the 
life  of  one  Thomas  h  Kempis,  which 
was  a  work  he  had  had  a  long  time  on 
hand.  One  day  she  comes  into  his 
library,  and  salutes  him  thus: 
"  Mr.  Lacy,  I  w^ould  I  were  a  book ; 
and  then  methinks  you  would  a  little 
more  respect  me."  Polly,  who  was  by, 
cried  out,  "  Madam,  you  must  then  be 
an  almanac,  that  he  might  change 
every  year  ; "  whereat  she  was  not  a 
little  displeased.  And  another  time, 
when  her  husband  was  sick,  she  said, 
if  Mr.  Lacy  died,  she  would  bum 
Thomas  a  Kempis  for  the  killing  of 
lier  husband.  I,  hearing  this,  answer- 
ed that  to  do  so  were  a  great  pity ;  to 
whom  she  replied,  "  Why,  who  was 
Thomas  a  Kempis?"  to  which  I 
answered,  '*  One  of  the  saintliest  men 
of  the  age  wherein  he  lived."  Where- 
with she  was  so  satisfied,  that  she 
said,  then  she  would  not  do  it  for  all 
the  world. 

Methinks  I  read  more  in  that  one 
year  than  in  all  the  rest  of  my  life  be- 
side. Mine  aunt  was  more  sick  than 
usual,  and  Mistress  Ward  so  taken  up 
with  the  nursing  of  her,  that  she  did 
not  often  leave  her  room.  Polly  w^as 
married  in  the  winter  to  Sir  Ralph  In- 
goklby,  and  went  to  reside  for  some 
months  in  the  country.  Muriel  pre- 
vailed on  her  father  to  visit  the  pris- 
ons with  her,  in  Mistress  Ward's 
stead,  so  that  sometimes  they  were 
abroad  the  whole  of  the  day ;  by  rea- 
son of  which,  I  was  oftener  in  Gray's 
Inn  Lime  than  at  home,  sometimes  at 
Kate's  house,  and  sometimes  at  Mis- 
tress Wells's  mansion,  where  I  became 
infected  with  a  zeal  for  learning,  which 
Hubert's    examole    and    conversation 


did  greatly  invite  me  to.  He  had  the 
most  winning  tongue,  and  the  aptest 
spirit  in  the  world  to  divine  the  natural 
inchnations  of  those  he  consorted  with. 
The  books  he  advised  me  to  read  were 
mostly  swch  as  Mistress  Ward,  to 
whom  I  did  faithfully  recite  their  titles, 
accounted  to  be  not  otherwise  than 
good  and  profitable,  having  learned  so 
much  from  good  men  she  consulted 
thereon,  for  she  was  herself  no  scholar; 
but  they  bred  in  me  a  great  thirst  for 
knowledge,  a  craving  to  converse  with 
those  who  had  more  learning  than  my- 
self, and  withal  so  keen  a  relish  for  Hu- 
bert's society,  that  I  had  no  content- 
ment so  welcome  as  to  listen  to  his  dis- 
course, which  was  seasoned  with  a  rare 
kind  of  eloquence  and  a  discursive 
fancy,  to  which,  also,  the  perfection  of 
his  carriage,  his  pronunciation  of 
speech,  and  the  deportment  of  his 
body  lent  no  mean  lustre.  Naught 
arrogant  or  affected  disfigured  his  con- 
versation, in  which  did  lie  so  effica- 
cious a  power  of  persuasion,  and  at 
times,  when  the  occasion  called  for  it, 
so  great  a  vehemency  of  passion,  as 
enforced  admiration  of  his  great  parts 
if  not  approval  of  his  arguments.  1 
made  him  at  that  time  judge  of  the 
new  thoughts  which  books,  like  so 
many  keys  opening  secret  chambers 
in  the  mind,  did  unlock  in  mine  ;  and 
I  mind  me  how  eagerly  I  looked  for 
his  answers — how  I  hung  on  his  lips 
Avhen  he  was  speaking,  not  from  any 
singular  affection  toward  his  person, 
but  by  reason  of  the  extraordinary 
fascination  of  his  speech,  and  the  in- 
terest of  the  themes  we  discoursed  up- 
on; one  time  touching  on  the  histories 
of  great  men  of  past  ages,  at  another 
on  the  changes  wrought  in  our  own  by 
the  new  art  of  printing  books,  which 
had  produced  such  great  changes  in 
the  world,  and  yet  greater  to  be  ex- 
pected. And  as  he  was  well  skilled 
in  the  Italian  as  well  as  the  French 
language,  I  came  by  his  means  to  be 
acquainted  with  many  great  writers  of 
those  nations.  He  translated  for  me  : 
sundry  passages  from  the  divine  play 
of  Signer  Da  ite  Alighieri,  in  whick; 


98 


Constance  Shernooa 


hell  and  purgatory  and  heaven  arc  de- 
picted, as  it  were  by  an  eye-witness, 
with  so  much  pregnancy  of  meaning 
and  force  of  genius,  that  it  should  al- 
most appear  as  if  some  special  revela- 
tion had  been  vouchsafed  to  the  poet  be- 
yond his. natural  thoughts,  to  disclose 
to  him  the  secrets  of  other  spheres. 
He  also  made  me  read  a  portion  of 
that  most  line  and  sweet  poem  on  the 
delivery  of  the  holy  city  Jerusalem, 
composed  by  Signor  Torquato  Tasso, 
a  gentleman  who  resided  at  that  time 
at  the  court  of  the  Duke  of  Ferrara, 
and  which  one  Mr.  Fairfax  has  since 
done  into  English  verse.  The  first 
four  cantos  thereof  were  given  to  Mr. 
Wells  by  a  young  gentleman,  who  had 
for  a  while  studied  at  the  University 
•of  Padua.  This  fair  poem,  and  mostly 
the  second  book  ihereof,  hath  remained 
imprinted  in  my  memjDry  with  a  singu- 
lar fixity,  by  reason  that  it  proved  the 
occasion  of  my  discerning  for  the  first 
time  a  special  inclination  on  Hubert's 
side  toward  myself,  who  thought  noth- 
ing of  love,  but  was  only  glad  to 
have  acquired  a  friend  endowed  with 
so  much  wit  and  superior  knowledge, 
and  willing  to  impart  it.  This  book, 
I  say,  did  contain  a  narration  which 
bred  in  me  so  great  a  resentment  of 
the  author's  merits,  and  so  quick  a 
sympathy  with  the  feigned  subjects  of 
his  muse,  that  never  before  or  since 
the  story  of  Olindo  and  Sophronisba. 
methinks  has  a  fiction  so  moved  me  as 
Methinks  this  was  partly  ascribable 
to  a  certain  hkeness  between  the 
scenes  described  by  the  poet  and  some 
which  take  place  at  this  time  in  our 
country.  In  the  maiden  of  high  and 
noble  thoughts,  fair,  but  heedless  of 
her  beauty,  who  stood  in  the  presence 
of  the  soldan,  once  a  Christian,  then  a 
renegade,  taking  on  herself  the  sole 
guilt, — O  virtuous  guilt  !  O  worthy 
crime ! — of  wliich  all  the  Christians 
were  accused,  to  wit,  of  rescuing 
sacred  Mary's  image  from  the  hands  of 
the  infidels  who  did  curse  and  blas- 
pheme it,  and,  when  all  were  to  die 
for  the  act  of  one  unknown,  offered 
herself  a  ransom  for  all,  and  with  a 


shamefaced  courage,  such  as  became  a 
maid,  and  a  bold  modesty  befitting  a 
saint — a  bosom  moved  indeed,  but  not 
dismayed,  a  fair  but  not  pallid  cheek 
— was  content  to  perish  for  that  the 
rest  should  live  ; — in  her,  I  say,  I  saw 
a  likeness  in  spirit  to  those  who  suficr 
nowadays  for  a  like  faith  with  hers, 
not  at  the  hands  of  infidels,  but  of  such 
whose  parents  did  for  the  most  part 
hold  that  same  belief  which  they  do 
now  make  out  to  be  treason. 

Hubert,  observing  me  to  be  thus 
moved,  smiled,  and  asked  if,  in  the 
hke  case,  I  should  have  willed  to  die 
as  Sophronisba. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  « if  God  did 
give  me  grace  ;"  and  then,  as  I  uttered 
the  words,  I  thought  it  should  not  be 
lawful  to  tell  a  lie,  not  for  to  save  all 
the  Hves  in  the  world  ;  which  doubt  I 
imparted  to  him,  who  laughed  and 
said  he  was  of  the  poet's  mind,  who 
doth  exclaim,  touching  this  he,  "  O 
noble  deceit !  worthier  than  truth  it- 
self!" and  that  he  thought  a  soul 
should  not  suffer  long  in  purgatory 
for  such  a  sin.  "  Maybe  not,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "  yet,  I  ween,  there  should 
be  more  faith  in  a  sole  commitment  to 
God  of  the  events  than  in  doing  the 
least  evil  so  that  good  should  come  of 
it." 

He  said,  "  I  marvel,  Mistress  Con- 
stance, what  should  be  your  thoughts 
thereon  if  the  life  of  a  priest  was  in 
your  hands,  and  you  able  to  save  him 
by  a  lie." 

"  Verily,"  1  answered,  "  I  know  not. 
Master  Rookwood;  but  I  have  so 
much  trust  in  Almighty  God  that  he 
would,  in  such  a  case,  put  words  into 
my  mouth  which  should  be  true,  and 
yet  mislead  evil-purposed  men,  or 
that  he  shall  keep  me  from  such  fear- 
ful straits,  or  forgive  me  if,  in  the 
stress  of  a  great  peril,  I  unwittingly 
should  err." 

"And  I  pray  you,"  Hubert  then 
said,  as  if  not  greatly  caring  to  pursue 
the  theme,  "what  be  your  thoughts 
concerning  the  unhappy  youth  Ohndo, 
who  did  so  dote  on  this  maiden  that, 
fearful  of  offending  there  where  above 


Constance  Sherwool. 


99 


all  he  desired  to  please,  had,  greatly 
as  he  loved,  little  hoped,  nothing  asked, 
and  not  so  much  as  revealed  his  pas- 
sion until  a  common  fate  bound  both 
to  an  equal  death  ?" 

"  I  thought  not  at  all  on  him,"  I 
answered;  "but  only  on  Sophron- 
isba." 

At  which  he  sighed  and  read  fur- 
ther: "That  all  wept  forher  who,  albeit 
doomed  to  a  cruel  death,  wept  not  for 
herself,  but  in  this  wise  secretly  re- 
proved the  fond  youth's  weeping: 
'  Friend,'  quoth  she,  '  other  thoughts, 
other  tears,  other  sighs,  do  beseem 
this  hour.  Think  of  thy  sins,  and 
God's  great  recompense  for  the  good. 
Suffer  for  his  sole  sake,  and  torment 
shall  be  sweet.  See  how  fair  the  heav- 
ens do  show,  tlie  sun  how  bright,  as  it 
were  to  cheer  and  lure  us  onward  1'  " 

"  Ah !"  I  exclaimed,  "  shame  on  him 
who  did  need  to  be  so  exhorted,  who 
should  have  been  the  most  vaUant,  be- 
ing a  man  !"  To  the  which  he  quickly 
replied : 

"  He  willed  to  die  of  his  own  free 
will  rather  than  to  live  without  her 
whom  he  jewelled  more  than  hfe :  but 
in  the  matter  of  grieving  love  doth 
make  cowards  of  those  who  should 
else  have  been  brave." 

"Methinks,  rather,"  I  answered, 
''  that  in  noble  hearts  love's  effects 
should  be  noble." 

"  Bethink  you.  Mistress  Constance," 
he  then  asked,  "  that  Sophronisba  did 
act  commendably,  insomuch  that  when 
an  unlooked-for  deliverance  came,  she 
refused  not  to  be  united  in  life  to  him 
that  had  willed  to  be  united  to  her  in 
death." 

"  You  may  think  me  ungrateful,  sir," 
I  answered;  "but  other  merits  me- 
thinks than  fondness  for  herself  should 
have  won  so  great  a  heart." 

"  You  be  hard  to  content.  Mistress 
Ccnstance,"  he  answered  somewhat 
resentfully.  "  To  satisfy  you,  I  per- 
ceive one  should  have  a  hard  as  well 
as  a  great  heart." 

"  Nay,"  I  cried,  "  I  praise  not  hard- 
ness, but  love  not  softness  either.  You 
that  be  so  learned,  I  pray  you  find  the 


word  which  doth  express  what  pleas- 
cth  me  in  a  man." 

"  J  know  not  the  word,"  he  answer- 
ed ;  '•  I  would  I  knew  the  substance 
of  your  liking,  that  T  might  furnisii 
myself  with  it." 

Whereupon  our  discourse  ended 
that  day  ;  but  it  ministered  food  to  my 
thoughts,  and  I  fear  me  also  to  a  vain 
content  that  one  so  gifted  with  learn- 
ing and  great  promise  of  future  great- 
ness should  evince  something  of  regard 
beyond  a  mutual  friendship  for  one  as 
ignorant  and  young  as  I  then  was. 

Some  months  after  Kate's  marriage, 
matters  became  very  troublesome,  by 
reason  of  the  killing  of  a  great  store, 
as  was  reported,  of  French  Huguenots 
in  Paris  on  St.  Bartholomew's  day,  and 
afterward  in  many  cities  of  France, 
which  did  consternate  the  English 
Cathohcs  for  more  reasons  than  one, 
and  awoke  so  much  rage  in  the  breasts 
of  Protestants,  that  the  French  am- 
bassador told  Lady  Tregony,  a  friend 
of  Mistress  Wells,  that  he  did  scarce 
venture  to  show  his  face ;  and  none, 
save  only  the  queen  herself,  who  is 
always  his  very  good  friend,  would 
speak  to  him.  I  was  one  evening  at 
the  house  of  Lady  Ingoldby,  Polly's 
mother-in-law,  some  time  after  this 
dismal  news  had  been  bruited,  and  the 
company  there  assembled  did  for  the 
most  part  discourse  on  these  events, 
not  only  as  deploring  what  had  taken 
place,  alid  condemning  the  authors 
thereof, — which,  indeed,  was  what  all 
good  persons  must  needs  have  done, — 
but  took  occasion  thence  to  use  such  vih' 
terms  and  opprobrious  language  touch- 
ing Catholic  religion,  and  the  cruelty 
and  wickedness  of  such  as  did  profess 
it,  without  so  much  as  a  thought  of 
the  miseries  inflicted  on  them  in  Eng- 
land, that — albeit  I  had  been  school- 
ed in  the  hard  lesson  of  silence — so 
strong  a  passion  overcame  me  then, 
that  I  had  well  nigh,  as  the  Psalmist 
saith,  spoken  with  my  tongue,  yea, 
young  as  I  was,  uttered  words  rising 
hot  from  my  heart,  in  the  midst  of 
that  adverse  company,  which  I  did 
know  them  to  be,  if  one  had  not   at 


lOO 


Constance  Sheruood. 


that  moment  lifted  up  his  voice,  whose 
presence  I  had  already  noted,  though 
not  acquainted  with  his  name  ;  a  man 
of  reverent  and  exceedingly  benevo- 
lent aspect ;  aged,  but  with  an  eye  so 
bright,  and  silvery  hair  crowning  a  no- 
ble forehead,  that  so  much  excellence 
and  dignity  is  seldom  to  be  observed 
in  any  one  as  was  apparent  in  this 
gentleman. 

"  Good  friends,"  he  said,  and  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice  the  speakers  hushed 
their  eager  discoursing,  "  God  defend 
I  should  in  any  way  differ  with  you 
touching  the  mascacres  in  France; 
for  verily  it  has  been  a  lamentable  and 
horrible  thing  that  so  many  persons 
should  be  killed,  and  religion  to  be  the 
pretence  for  it;  but  to  hear  some 
speak  of  it,  one  should  think  none  did 
suffer  in  this  country  for  their  faith, 
and  bloody  law3  did  not  exist,  whereby 
Papists  are  put  to  death  in  a  legal, 
cold-blooded  fashion,  more  terrible,  if 
possible,  than  the  sudden  bursts  of 
wild  passions  and  civ,il  strife,  which  re- 
venge for  late  cruelties  committed  by 
the  Huguenots,  wherein  many  thou- 
sand Catholics  Had  perished,  the  de- 
struction of  churches,  havoc  of  fierce 
•oldiery,  and  apprehension  of  the  like 
attempts  in  Paris,  had  stirred  up  to 
fury;  so  that  when  the  word  went 
forth  to  fall  on  the  leaders  of  the 
party,  the  savage  work  once  begun, 
even  as  a  fire  in  a  city  built  of  wood, 
raged  as  a  madness  for  one  while,  and 
men  in  a  panic  struck  at  foes,  whose 
gripe  they  did  think  to  feel  about 
their  throats." 

Here  the  speaker  paused  an  in- 
stant. This  so  bold  opening  of  his 
speech  did  seem  to  take  all  present  by 
surprise,  and  almost  robbed  me  of  my 
breath ;  for  it  is  well  known  that  now- 
adays a  word,  yea  a  piece  of  a  word, 
or  a  nod  of  the  head,  whereby  any 
suspicion  may  arise  of  a  favorable 
disposition  toward  Catholics,  is  often- 
times a  sufficient  cause  for  a  man  to 
be  accused  and  cast  into  prison ;  and  I 
waited  his  next  words  (which  every 
one,  pcradventure  from  curiosity,  did 
likewise  seem  inclined  to  hear)  with 


downcast  eyes,  wliich  dared  not  to 
glance  at  any  one's  face,  and  cheeks 
which  buraed  like  hot  coals. 

"  It  is  well  known,"  quoth  he,  "  that 
the  sufferings  which  be  endured  by 
recusants  at  this  time  in  our  country 
are  such,  that  many  should  prefer  to 
die  at  once  than  to  be  subjected  to  so 
constant  a  fear  and  terror  as  doth  be- 
set them.  I  speak  not  now  of  the 
truth  or  the  falsity  of  their  religion, 
which,  if  it  be  ever  so  damnable  and 
wicked,  is  no  new  invention  of  their 
own,  but  what  all  Christian  people  did 
agree  in,  one  hundred  years  ago ;  so 
that  the  aged  do  but  abide  by  what 
they  were  taught  by  undoubted  author- 
ity in,  their  youth,  and  the  young  have 
received  from  their  parents  as  true. 
But  I  do  solely  aver  that  Papists  arc 
subjected  to  a  thousand  vexations, 
both  of  bonds,  imprisonments,  and  tor- 
ments worse  than  death,  yea  and  oft- 
entimes to  death  itself;  and  that  so 
dreadful,  that  to  be  slain  by  the  sword, 
or  drowned,  yea  even  burned  at  the 
stake,  is  not  so  terrible ;  for  they  do 
hang  a  man  and  then  cut  him  down 
yet  alive,  and  butcher  him  in  such 
ways — plucking  out  his  heart  and 
tearing  his  limbs  asunder — that  noth 
ing  more  horrible  can  be  thought  of." 

"  They  be  traitors  who  arc  so 
used,"  cried  one  gentleman,  somewhat 
recovering  from  the  surprise  which 
these  bold  words  had  caused. 

"  If  to  be  of  a  different  religion  from 
the  sovereign  of  the  country  be  a  proof 
of  treason,"  continued  the  venerable 
speaker,  "  then  were  the  Huguenots, 
which  have  perished  in  France,  a 
whole  mass  and  nest  of  traitors." 

A  gentleman  seated  behind  me,  who 
had  a  trick  of  sleeping  in  his  chair, 
woke  up  and  cried  out,  "  Not  half  a 
one,  sirs  ;  not  so  much  as  half  a  one 
is  allowed,"  meaning  the  mass,  which 
he  did  suppose  to  have  been  spoken 
of. 

"  And  if  so,  deserved  all  to  die," 
continued  the  speaker. 

"  Ay,  and  so  they  do,  sir,"  quoth  the 
sleeper.  "  I  pray  you  let  them  all  be 
hanged."      Upon    which    every    one 


Constance  Sherwood. 


W^  ]IP\ 


laughed,  and  the  aged  gentleman  also ; 

and  then  lie  said, 

"  Good  my  friends,  I  ween  'tis  a 
rash  thing  to  speak  in  favor  of  recu- 
sants nowadays,  and  what  few  could 
dare  to  do  but  such  as  cannot  be  sus- 
pected of  disloyalty  to  the  queen  and 
the  country,  and  who,  having  drunk  of 
the  cup  of  affliction  in  their  youth, 
even  to  the  dregs,  and  held  life  for  a 
long  time  as  a  burden  which  hath  need 
to  be  borne  day  by  day,  until  the 
wished  for  hour  of  release  doth  come 
— and  the  sooner,  the  more  welcome — 
have  no  enemies  to  fear,  and  no  object 
to  attain.  And  if  so  be  that  you  will 
bear  with  me  for  a  few  moments,  yea, 
if  ye  procure  me  to  be  hanged  to-mor- 
row" (this  he  said  with  a  pleasant 
smile  ;  and,  "Marry,  fear  not,  Mr. 
Roper,"  and  "  V  faith,  speak  on,  sir," 
was  bruited  round  him  by  his  aston- 
ished auditors),  "I  will  recite  to  you 
some  small  part  of  the  miseries  which 
have  been  endured  of  late  years  by 
such  as  cannot  be  charged  with  the 
least  thought  of  treason,  or  so  much 
as  the  least  offence  against  the  laws, 
except  in  what  touches  the  secret 
practice  of  their  religion.  Women 
have,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  been 
hung  up  by  the  hands  in  prisons  (which 
do  overflow  with  recusants,  so  that  at 
this  time  there  remaineth  no  room  for 
common  malefactors),  and  cruelly 
scourged,  for  that  they  would  not  con- 
fess by  which  priest  they  had  been  re- 
conciled or  al3solved,  or  where  they 
had  heard  mass.  Priests  are  often 
tortured  to  force  them  to  declare  what 
they  hear  in  confession,  who  harbor 
priests  and  Papists,  where  such  and 
such  recusants  are  to  be  found,  and 
the  like  questions ;  and  in  so  strenu- 
ous a  manner,  that  needles  have  been 
thrust  under  their  nails,  and  one  man, 
not  long  since,  died  of  his  racking.  O 
sirs  and  gentle  ladies,  I  have  seen 
with  mine  own  eyes  a  youth,  the  son 
of  one  of  my  friends — young  Mark 
Typper,  born  of  honest  and  rich  pa- 
rents, skilful  in  human  learning,  hav- 
ing left  his  study  for  a  time,  and  go- 
ing home  to  see  his  friends — whipped 


through  the  streets  of  London,  and 
burnt  in  the  ear,  because,  forsooth,  a 
forward  judge,  to  whom  he  had  been 
accused  as  a  Papist,  and  finding  no 
proof  thereof,  condemned  him  as  a 
vagabond.  And  what  think  you,  good 
people,  of  the  death  of  Sir  Robe  it 
Tyrwit's  son,  who  was  accused  for 
hearing  of  a  mass  at  the  marriage  of 
his  sister,  and  albeit  at  the  time  of  his 
arrest  in  a  grievous  fever,  was  pulled 
out  of  the  house  and  thrust  into  prison, 
even  as  he  then  was,  feeble,  faint,  and 
grievously  sick  ?  His  afflicted  parents 
entreat,  make  intercession,  and  use  all 
the  means  they  can  to  move  the  jus- 
tices to  have  consideration  of  the  sick  ; 
not  to  heap  sorrow  upon  sorrow,  nor 
affliction  on  the  afflicted ;  not  to  take 
away  the  life  of  so  comely  a  young 
gentleman,  whom  the  physicians  come 
and  affirm  will  certainly  die  if  he 
should  be  removed.  All  this  is  noth- 
ing regarded.  They  lay  hold  on  the 
sick  man,  pull  him  away,  shut  him  up 
in  prison,  and  within  two  days  next 
after  he  dies.  They  bury  him,  and 
make  no  scruple  or  regard  at  all.  O 
sirs,  bethink  you  what  these  parents 
do  feel  when  they  hear  Englishmen 
speak  of  the  murders  of  Protestants  in 
France  as  an  unheard  of  crime.  If, 
in  these  days,  one  in  a  family  of  recu- 
sants doth  covet  the  mheritance  of  an 
elder  brother — yea,  of  a  father — he 
hath  but  to  conform  to  the  now  estab- 
lished religion  (I  leave  you  to  think 
with  how  much  of  piety  and  con- 
science), and  denounce  his  parent  as  a 
Papist,  and  straightway  he  doth  pro- 
cure him  to  be  despoiled,  and  his  lands 
given  up  to  him.  Thus  the  seeds  of 
strife  and  bitter  enmity  have  been 
sown  broadcast  through  the  land^ 
the  bands  of  love  in  families  destroyed, 
the  foundations  of  honor  and  benefi- 
cence blown  up,  the  veins  and  sinews 
of  the  common  society  of  men  cut 
asunder,  and  a  fiendly  force  of  violence 
and  a  deadly  poison  of  suspicion  use.l 
against  such  as  are  accused  of  no  other 
crime  than  their  religion,  which  they 
yet  adhere  to ;  albeit  their  fortunes  be 
ruined  by  fines  and  their  lives  ia  con- 


iOi' 


Constance  Sherwood. 


stant  jeopardy  from  strenuous  laws 
made  yet  more  urgent  by  private  mal- 
ice. My  friends,  I  would  that  not 
one  hair  of  the  head  of  so  much  as 
one  Huguenot  had  been  touched  in 
France  ;  that  not  one  Protestant  had 
perished  in  the  flames  in  the  late 
queen's  reign,  or  in  that  of  her  present 
majesty ;  and  also  that  the  persecution 
now  framed  in  this  country  against 
Papists,  and  so  handled  as  to  blind 
men's  eyes  and  work  in  them  a  strange 
hypocrisy,  yea  and  in  some  an  inno- 
cent belief  that  freedom  of  men's  souls 
be  the  offspring  of  Protestant  religion, 
should  pass  away  from  this  land.  I 
care  not  how  soon  (as  mine  honored 
father-in-law,  and  in  God  too,  I  verily 
might  add,  was  wont  to  sayj, — I  care 
not  how  soon  I  be  sewn  up  in  a  bag 
and  cast  into  the  Thames,  if  so  be  I 
might  first  see  religious  differences  at 
an  end,  and  men  of  one  mind  touching 
God's  truth." 

Here  this  noble  and  courageous 
speaker  ceased,  and  various  murmurs 
rose  among  the  company.  One  lady 
remarked  to  her  neighbor  :  "  A  mar- 
vellous preacher  that  of  seditious  doc- 
trines, methinks." 

And  one  gentleman  aid  that  if 
such  talk  were  suffered  to  pass  unpun- 
ished in  her  majesty's  subjects,  he 
should  look  to  see  massing  and  Pop- 
ery to  rear  again  their  heads  in  the 
land. 

And  many  loudly  affirmed  none 
could  be  Papists,  or  wish  them  well, 
and  be  friends  to  the  queen's  govern- 
ment, and  so  it  did  stand  to  reason  that 
Papists  were  traitors. 

And  another  said  that,  for  his  part, 
he  should  desire  to  see  them  less  mer- 
cifully dealt  with  ;  and  that  the  great 
clemency  shown  to  such  as  did  refuse 
to  come  to  church,  by  only  laying  fines 
on  them,  and  not  dealing  so  roundly 
as  should  compel  them  to  obedience, 
did  but  maintain  them  in  their  obstin- 
acy ;  and  he  himself  would  as  lief 
shoot  down  a  seminary  priest  as  a 
wolf,  or  any  other  evil  beast. 

I  noticed  this  last  speaker  to  be  one 
of  those  who  had  spoken  with  most 


abhorrence     of     the     massacres     in 
France. 

One  lady  called  out  in  a  loud  voice 
that  Papists,  and  such  as  take  their 
part,  among  which  she  did  lament  to 
see  Mr.  Roper,  should  be  ashamed  so 
much  as  to  speak  of  persecution ;  and 
began  to  relate  the  cruelties  practised 
upon  Protestants  twenty  years  back, 
and  the  burning  at  Oxford  of  those 
excellent  godly  men,  the  bishops  of 
London  and  Worcester. 

Mr.  Roper  listened  to  her  with  an 
attentive  countenance,  and  then  said : 

"  r  faith,  madam,  I  cannot  choose 
but  think  Dr.  Latimer,  if  it  be  he 
you  speak  of,  did  somewhat  approve  of 
such  a  method  of  dealing  with  persons 
obstinate  touching  religion,  when  others 
than  himself  and  those  of  his  own  way 
of  thinking  were  tlie  subjects  of  it,  if 
we  judge  by  a  letter  he  wrote  in  1538 
to  his  singular  good  friend  the  Lord 
Privy  Seal  Cromwell,  at  the  time  he 
was  appointed  to  preach  at  the  burn- 
ing at  Smithfield  of  Friar  Forest  of 
Greenwich,  a  learned  divine  I  often 
did  converse  with  in  my  young  years." 

"  What  wrote  the  good  bishop  ?  " 
two  or  three  persons  asked  ;  and  the 
lady  who  had  spoken  before  said  she 
should  warrant  it  to  be  something 
pious,  f6r  a  more  virtuous  Protestant 
never  did  live  than  this  holy  martyr. 

Whereupon  Mr.  Roper:  "This 
holy  bishop  did  open  his  discourse 
right  merrily,  for  in  a  pleasant  man- 
ner he  thus  begins  his  letter :  '  And, 
sir,  if  it  be  your  pleasure,  as  it  is,  that 
I  shall  play  the  fool  in  my  customable 
manner  when  Forest  shall  suffer,  I 
would  wish  my  stage  stood  near  unto 
Forest ;  for  I  would  endeavor  myself 
so  to  content  the  people  that  therewith 
I  might  also  convert  Forest,  God  so 
helping.'  And  further  on  he  doth 
greatly  lament  that  the  Wliite  Friars 
of  Doncaster  had  access  to  the  prison- 
er, and  through  the  fault  of  the  sheriff 
or  jailers,  or  both,  he  should  be  al- 
lowed to  hear  mass  and  receive  the 
sacrament,  by  which  he  is  rather  com- 
forted in  his  way  tlian  discouraged. 
And  such  is  his  foolishness,  this  good 


Constance  Sherwood, 


10' 


man  doth  humbly  say,  that  if  Forest 
would  abjure  his  religion,  he  should 
yet  (tor  all  his  past  obstinacy)  wish 
liim  pardoned.  O  sirs,  think  you  that 
when  at  Oxford  this  aged  man,  seven- 
teen years  after,  did  see  the  flames 
gather  round  himself,  that  he  did  not 
eall  to  mind  what  time  he  preached, 
l)iaylng  the  fool,  as  he  saith,  before  a 
man  in  like  agonies,  and  never  urged  so 
much  as  one  word  against  his  sen- 
tence ?" 

*•'  Marry,  if  he  did  not,"  said  one, 
whom  I  take  to  have  been  Sir  Chris- 
topher Wray,  who  had  been  a  silent 
listener  until  then,  "  if  his  conscience 
pricked  him  not  thereon,  it  must  needs 
have  been  by  the  same  rule  as  the 
lawyer  used  to  the  countryman,  who 
did  put  to  him  this  question  :  '  Sir,  if 
my  cow  should  stray  into  your  field 
and  feed  there  one  whole  day,  what 
should  be  the  law  touching  compensa- 
tion therefor  ?'  '  Marry,  friend,  as- 
suredly to  pay  the  damage  to  the  full, 
Avhich  thou  art  bounden  at  once  to  do.' 
'  Ay,'  quoth  the  countryman ;  '  but  'tis 
your  cow  hath  strayed  into  my  field.' 
Upon  which,  '  Go  to,  go  to,'  cries  the 
hi  wye:*;  '  for  I  warrant  thee  that  doth 
altogether  alter  the  law.' " 

Some  smiled,  aud  others  murmured 
at  this  story ;  and  meanwhile  one  of 
the  company,  -who  from  his  dress  I 
perceived  to  be  a  minister,  and  more- 
over to  hold  some  dignity  in  the  Prot- 
estant Church,  rose  from  his  place,  and 
crossing "  the  room,  came  up  to  Mr. 
Roper  (for  that  bold  speaker  was  no 
other  than  Sir  Thomas  More's  son- 
in-law,  whose  great  charity  and  good- 
ness I  had  often  heard  of),  and,  shak- 
ing hands  with  him,  said :  "  I  be  of 
the  same  mind  with  you,  friend  Roper, 
in  every  w^ord  you  have  uttered  to- 
night. And  I  pray  to  God  my  soul 
may  be  with  yours  after  this  life,  and 
our  end  in  heaven,  albeit  I  should  not 
sail  there  in  the  same  boat  with 
you." 

"  Good  Mr.  Dean,"  quoth  Mr.  Ro- 
per, "  I  do  say  amen  to  your  prayer." 
And  then  he  added  somewhat  in  a  low 
voice,  and  methinks  it  was  that  there 


is  but  one  ship  chartered  for  safety  in 
such  a  voyage. 

At  the  which  the  other  shook  his 
head  and  waved  his  hand,  and  then 
calling  to  him  a  youth  not  more  than 
twelve  or  thirteen  years  old,  his  son, 
he  did  present  him  to  Mr.  Roper.  I 
had  observed  this  young  gentleman  to 
listen,  with  an  eagerness  betokening 
more  keenness  for  information  than  is 
usually  to  be  found  in  youths  of  his 
years,  to  the  discourses  held  that  even- 
ing. His  father  told  Mr.  Roper  that 
this  his  son's  parts  and  quick  appre- 
hension in  learning  did  lead  him  to 
hope  he  should  be  one  day,  if  it  pleas- 
ed God,  an  ornament  to  the  church. 
Mr.  Roper  smiled  as  he  saluted  the 
youth,  and  said  a  few  words  to  him, 
which  he  answered  very  readily.  I 
never  saw  again  that  father  or  that 
son.  The  one  v/as  Dr.  Mathews, 
whom  the  queen  made  Bishop  of  Dur 
ham ;  and  the  other,  Toby  Mathews, 
his  son,  who  was  reconciled  some  years 
ago,  and,  as  I  have  heard  from  some, 
is  now  a  Jesuit. 

The  venerable  aspect  of  the  good 
Mr.  Roper  so  engaged  my  thoughts, 
that  I  asked  Lady  Tregony,  by  whose 
side  I  was  sitting,  if  she  was  acquaint- 
ed with  him,  and  if  his  virtue  Avas  as 
great  as  his  appearance  was  noble. 
She  smiled,  and  answered  that  his  ap- 
pearance, albeit  honorable  and  comely, 
was  not  *ie  half  so  honorable  as  his 
life  had  been,  or  so  comely  as  his 
mind.  That  he  had  been  the  husband 
of  Sir  Thomas  More's  never-to-be- 
forgotten  daughter,  Margaret,  whose 
memory  he  so  reverently  did  cherish 
that  he  had  never  so  much  as  thought 
of  a  second  marriage;  and  of  late 
years,  since  he  had  resigned  the  office 
of  sub-notary  in  the  Queen's  Bench 
to  his  son,  he  did  give  his  whole  sub- 
stance and  his  time  to  the  service  of 
the  poor,  and  especially  to  prisoners, . 
by  reason  of  which  he  was  called  the 
staff  of  the  sorrowful,  and  sure  refuge 
of  the  afflicted.  Now,  then,  I  looked 
on  the  face  of  this  good  aged  man  with 
a  deeper  reverence  than  heretofore. 
Now  I  longed  to  be  favored  with  td 


I04 


Constance  Slierwoad. 


much  of  his  notice  as  one  passing  word. 
Now  I  watched  for  an  opportunity  to 
compass  my  desire,  and  I  thank  God 
not  without  effect ;  for  I  do  count  it 
as  a  chief  blessing  to  have  been  hon- 
ored, during  the  remaining  years  of 
this  virtuous  gentleman's  life,  with  so 
much  of  his  condescending  goodness, 
that  if  the  word  friendship  may  be 
used  in  regard  to  such  affectionate  feel- 
ings as  can  exist  between  one  verging 
on  four-score  years  of  age  and  of  such 
exalted  merit,  and  a  foolish  creature 
yet  in  her  teens,  whom  he  honored  with 
his  notice,  it  should  be  so  in  this  in- 
stance; wherein  on  the  one  side  a  sin- 
gular reverence  and  humble  great  af- 
fection did  arise  almost  on  first  ac- 
quaintance, and  on  the  other  so  much 
benignity  and  goodness  shown  in  the 
pains  taken  to  cultivate  such  good  dis- 
positions as  had  been  implanted  in  this 
young  person's  heart  by  careful  pa- 
rents, and  to  guard  her  mind  against 
the  evils  of  the  times,  that  nothing 
could  be  greater. 

Mr.  Roper  chancing  to  come  near 
us.  Lady  Tregony  said  somewhat, 
which  caused  him  to  address  me  in 
this   wise : 

"  And  are  there,  then,  maidens  in 
these  days  not  averse  to  the  sight  of 
gray  hairs,  and  who  mislike  not  to 
converse  with  aged  men  ?" 

This  was  said  with  so  kindly  a 
smile  that  timidity  vanished,  and  con- 
fidence took  its  place. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  cried, "  when  I  was  not 
so  much  as  five  years  old,  my  good 
father  showed  me  a  picture  of  Sir 
Thomas  More,  and  told  me  he  was  a 
man  of  such  angelic  wit  as  England 
never  had  the  like  before,  nor  is  ever 
like  to  have  again,  and  of  a  most  fa- 
mous and  holy  memory ;  and  me- 
thinks,  sir,  that  you,  being  his  son-in- 
law,  who  knew  his  doings  and  his 
mind  so  well,  and  lived  so  long  in  his 
house,  must  needs  in  many  things  re- 
semble him." 

"As  to  his  doings  and  his  mind," 
Mr.  Roper  replied,  "no  man  living 
knoweth  them  so  well,  and  if  my  mean 
wit,    memory,    and   knowledge  could 


serve  me  now,  could  declare  so  much 
thereof.  But  touching  resemblance, 
alas !  there  was  but  one  in  all  the 
world  that  represented  the  likeness  of 
his  virtues  and  perfections  ;  one  whom 
he  loved  in  a  particular  manner,  and 
who  was  worthiest  of  that  love  more 
than  any  creature  God  has  made." 

Here  the  good  man's  voice  faltered 
a  little,  and  he  made  a  stop  in  his  dis- 
course ;  but  in  a  little  while  said  that 
he  had  thought  it  behoved  him  to  set 
down  in  writing  such  matters  concern- 
ing Sir  Thomas's  life  as  he  could  then 
call  to  remembrance,  and  that  he  would 
lend  me  the  manuscript  to  read,  which  J 
did  esteem  an  exceeding  great  favor, 
and  one  I  could  not  sufficiently  thank 
him  for.  Then  he  spoke  somewhat  of 
the  times,  which  were  waxing  every 
day  more  troublesome,  and  told  me  ho 
often  called  to  mind  a  conversation  he 
once  had  with  Sir  Thomas,  walking 
along  the  side  of  the  Thames  at  Chel- 
sea, which  he  related  in  these  words  : 

"  *  Now  would  to  God,  my  son  Ro- 
per,' quoth  Sir  Thomas,  '  I  were  put 
in  a  sack,  and  presently  cast  into  the 
Thames,  upon  condition  that  three 
things  were  well  established  through- 
out Clu*istendom.'  '  And  what  mighty 
things  are  those,  sir?'  I  asked. 
Whereupon  he :  '  Wouldst  thou  know, 
son  Roper,  what  they  be  ?'  '  Yea, 
marry,  sir,  with  a  good  will,  if  it 
please  you,'  quoth  I.  T  laith,  son, 
they  be  these,'  he  said :  '  The  first  is 
that,  whereas  the  most  part  of  Chris- 
tian princes  are  at  mortal  wars,  they 
were  all  at  peace  ;  the  second  that, 
whereas  the  church  of  Christ  is  at 
present  sorely  afflicted  with  so  many 
heresies,  it  were  settled  in  perfect  uni- 
formity of  religion ;  the  third  that, 
where  the  matter  of  the  king's  mar- 
riage is  now  come  in  question,  it  were, 
to  the  glory  of  God  and  the  quietness 
of  all  parties,  brought  to  a  good  conclu- 
sion.' '  Ay,  sir,'  quoth  I, '  those  wen* 
indeed  three  things  greatly  to  be  de- 
sired ;  but' — I  continued  with  a  cci*- 
tain  joy — '  where  shall  one  see  a  hap- 
pier state  than  in  this  realm,  that  has 
so  Catholic  a  prince  that  no  hsretic 


Constance  Sherwood. 


105 


durst  show  Jiis  face ;  so  virtuous  and 
learned  a  clergy ;  so  grave  and  sound  a 
nobility ;  and  so  loving,  obedient  sub- 
jects, all  in  one  faith  agreeing  togeth- 
er ?'  '  Truth  it  is  indeed,  son  Roper,' 
quoth  he  ;  and  in  all  degrees  and  es- 
tates of  the  same  went  far  beyond  me 
in  commendation  thereof.  '  And  yet, 
son  Roper,  I  pray  God,'  said  he,  '  that 
some  of  us,  as  high  as  we  seem  to  sit 
on  the  mountains,  treading  heretics 
under  our  feet  like  ants,  live  not  the 
day  that  we  would  gladly  be  at  league 
and  composition  with  them,  to  let  them 
have  their  churches  quietly  to  them- 
selves, so  that  they  would  be  con- 
tented to  let  us  have  ours  quietly  to 
ourselves/  After  I  had  told  him  many 
considerations  why  he  had  no  cause 
to  say  so :  ^  Well,'  said  he,  '  I  pray 
God,  son  Roper,  some  of  us  will  live 
not  to  see  that  day.'  To  whom  I  re- 
pUed :  '  By  my  troth,  sir,  it  is  very 
desperately  spoken.'  These  vile  terms, 
I  cry  God  mercy,  did  I  give  him,  who, 
perceiving  me  to  be  in  a  passion, 
said  merrily  unto  me,  *  It  shall  not  be 
so ;  it  shall  not  be  so.'  In  sixteen 
years  and  more,  being  in  the  house 
conversing  with  him,  I  could  not  per- 
ceive him  to  be  so  much  as  once  out 
of  temper." 

This  was  the  first  of  many  conver- 
sations I  held,  during  the  years  I  lived 
in  Holborn,  with  this  worthy  gentle- 
man, who  was  not  more  pleased  to  re- 
late, than  I  to  hear,  sundry  anecdotes 
concerning  Sir  Thomas  More,  his 
house,  and  his  family. 

Before  he  left  me  that  day,  I  did 
make  bold  to  ask  him  if  he  feared  not 
ill  consequences  from  the  courageous 
words  he  had  used  in  a  mixed,  yea 
rather,  with  few  exceptions,  wholly 
adverse,  company. 

"Not  much,"  he  answered.  "Mine 
age;  the  knowledge  that  there  are 
those  who  would  not  wilhngly  see  me 
roughly  handled,  and  have  power  to 
prevent  it ;  and  withal  no  great  con- 
cern, if  it  should  be  so,  to  have  my 
liberty  constrained,  yea,  my  life  short- 
ened by  a  few  years,  or  rather  days, — 
doth  move  me  to  a  orrcater  freedom  -f 


speech  than  may  generally  be  used, 
and  a  notable  indifference  to  the  re- 
sults of  such  freedom." 

Having  whispered  the  like  fears  I 
had  expressed  to  him  to  Lady  Treg- 
ony,  she  did  assure  me  his  confidence 
was  well  based,  and  that  he  had  con- 
nexions which  would  by  no  means 
suffer  him  to  be  thrown  into  prison, 
which  should  be  the  fate  of  any  one 
else  in  that  room  who  had  spoken  but 
one  half,  yea  one  tenth  part,  as  boldly 
as  he  had  ventured  on. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  could  re- 
store myself  to  my  countenance,  after 
so  much  moving  discourse,  so  as  to 
join  with  spirit  in  the  sports  and  the 
dancinpj  w^hich  did  ensue  amonsc  tht; 
young  people  that  evening.  But  so- 
ber thoughts  and  painful  themes  af- 
ter a  while  gave  place  to  merriment ; 
and  the  sound  of  music,  gay  tattle, 
and  cheerful  steps  lured  me  to  sucli 
enjoyment  as  youth  is  wont  to  take 
in  these  kinds  of  pastimes.  It  was 
too  much  my  wont  to  pursue  with 
eagerness  the  present  humor,  and 
drink  deeply  of  innocent  pleasure 
wherein  no  harm  should  exist  if  en- 
joyed with  moderation.  But  like  in 
a  horse  on  whose  neck  the  bridle  is 
cast,  what  began  in  a  gentle  ambling 
ends  in  wild  gallopping ;  so  lawful  mer- 
riment, if  unrestrained,  often  ends  in 
what  is  unbeseeming,  and  in  some 
sort  blameable.  So  this  time,  when 
dancing  tired,  a  ring  was  formed  for 
conversation,  and  the  choice  of  the 
night's  pastime  yielded  to  my  discre- 
tion ;  alack,  rather  to  ray  imprudence 
and  folly,  methinks  I  might  style  it. 
I  chose  that  arguments  should  be  held 
by  two  persons  of  the  company,  turn 
by  turn,  and  that  a  judge  should  be 
named  to  allot  a  reward  to  the  worthi- 
est, and  a  penance  to  the  worst.  This 
liked  them  all  exceedingly,  and  by  one 
consent  they  appointed  me  to  be  judge, 
and  to  summon  such  as  should  dis^nute. 


io6 


Constance  Sherwood. 


There  were  there  two  young  gentlemen 
which  haunted  our  house,  and  Lady 
Ingoldby's  also.  One  was  Martin 
Tregony,  Lady  Tregony's  nephew,  an 
ill-favored  young  man,  with  manners 
worse  than  his  face,  and  so  apish  and 
foppish  in  his  dress  and  behavior,  that 
no  young  woman  could  abide  him, 
much  less  would  receive  his  addresses, 
or  if  she  did  entertain  him  in  conversa- 
tion, it  was  to  make  sport  of  his  so  great 
conceit.  He  had  an  ill-natured  kind 
of  wit,  more  sharp  than  keen,  more 
biting  than  sarcastic.  He  studied  the 
art  of  giving  pain,  and  oftentimes  did 
cause  shamefaced  merit  to  blush.  The 
other  was  Mr.  Thomas  Shei^wood,  who, 
albeit  not  very  near  in  blood  to  my 
father,  was,  howsoever,  of  the  same  fam- 
ily as  ourselves.  He  had  been  to  the 
English  College  in  Douay,  and  had 
brought  me  tidings  a  short  time  back 
of  my  father  and  Edmund  Genings' 
safe  arrival  thither,  and  afterward  came 
often  to  see  us,  and  much  frequented 
Lady  Tregony's  house.  He  had  ex- 
ceedingly good  parts,  but  was  some- 
what diffident  and  bashful.  Martin 
Tregony  was  wont  to  make  him  a 
mark,  as  it  were,  of  his  ill-natured  wit, 
and  did  fancy  himself  to  be  greatly 
his  superior  in  sharpness,  partly  be- 
cause Mr.  Sherwood's  disposition  was 
retiring,  and  partly  that  he  had  too 
much  goodness  and  sense  to  bandy 
Avords  with  so  ill-mannered  a  young 
man.  I  pray  you  who  read  this,  could 
aught  be  more  indiscreet  than,  in  a 
thoughtless  manner,  to  have  summon- 
ed these  two  to  dispute  ?  which  never- 
theless I  did,  thinking  some  sport 
should  arise  out  of  it,  to  see  Master 
Martin  foisted  in  argument  by  one  he 
despised,  and  also  from  his  extrav- 
agant gestures  and  affected  counte- 
nances.    So  I  said : 

"  Master  Tregony,  your  task  shall 
be  to  dispute  with  Master  Sherwood  ; 
and  this  the  theme  of  your  argument, 
'  The  Art  of  Tormenting.'  He  who  shall 
describe  the  nicest  instances  of  such 
skill,  when  exercised  by  a  master  to- 
ward his  servant,  a  parent  to  his  child, 
u  husband  to  his  wife^  a  wife  to  her 


husband,  a  lover  to  his  mistress,  or  a 
friend  to  his  friend,  shall  be  proclaim- 
ed victorious  ;  and  his  adversary  sub- 
mit to  such  penance  as  the  court  shall 
inflict." 

Master  Sherwood  shook  his  head 
for  to  decline  to  enter  these  lists  ;  but 
all  the  young  gentlemen  and  ladies 
cried,  he  should  not  be  suffered  to  show 
contempt  of  the  court,  and  forced  him 
to  stand  up. 

Master  Martin  was  nothing  loth,  and 
in  his  ill-favored  countenance  there 
appeared  a  made  smile,  which  did  in- 
dicate an  assurance  of  victory ;  so  he 
began : 

"  The  more  wit  a  man  bath,  the  bel- 
ter able  he  shall  be  at  times  to  torment 
another  ;  so  I  do  premise,  and  at  the 
outset  of  this  argument  declare,  that 
to  blame  a  man  for  the  exercise  of  a 
talent  he  doth  possess  is  downright 
impiety,  and  that  to  wound  another  by 
the  pungency  of  home-thrusts  in  con- 
versation is  as  just  a  liberty  in  an  in- 
genious man,  as  the  use  of  his  sword 
in  a  battle  is  to  a  soldier.'' 

Mr.  Sherwood  upon  this  replied, 
that  he  did  allow  a  public  disputation, 
appointed  by  meet  judges,  to  come  un- 
der the  nameof  a  fair  battle  ;  but  even 
in  a  battle  (he  said)  generous  combat- 
ants aim  not  so  much  at  wounding 
their  adversaries,  as  to  the  disarming  of 
them  ;  and  that  he  who  in  private  con- 
versation doth  make  a  weapon  of  his 
tongue  is  like  unto  the  man  who  pro- 
vokes another  to  a  single  combat, 
which  for  Christians  is  not  lawful,  and 
pierces  him  easily  who  has  less  skill 
in  wielding  the  sword  than  himself, 

"Marry,  sir,"  quoth  Master  Mar- 
tin, "  if  you  dobring  piety  into  your 
discourse,  methinks  the  rules  of  just 
debate  be  not  observed ;  for  it  is  an 
unfair  thing  for  to  overrule  a  man  with 
arguments  he  doth  not  dare  to  reply 
to  under  pain  of  spiritual  censures." 

"  I  cry  you  mercy.  Master  Martin," 
quoth  the  other ;  "■  you  did  bring  in 
mpiety,and  so  methought  piety  should 
not  be  excluded."  At  the  which  we 
all  applauded,  and  Martin  began  to 
i^ercelve    his    adversary    to    be  less 


Constance  Sherwood. 


107 


contemptible  than  he  had  suppos- 
ed. 

"Now  to  the  pomt,"  I  cried;  "for 
exordiums  be  tedious.  I  pray  you, 
gentlemen,  begin,  and  point  out  some 
notable  fashion  wherewith  a  master 
might  torment  his  servant." 

Upon  which  quoth  Martin :  "  If  a 
man  hath  a  sick  servant,  and  doth  note 
his  fancy  to  be  set  on  some  indulgence 
not  of  strict  necessity,  and  should  there- 
fore deny  it  tohim,methinks  tliat  should 
be  a  rare  opportunity  to  exercise  his 
talent." 

"  Nay,"  cried  Master  Sherwood,  "  a 
nicer  one,  and  ever  at  hand  afterward, 
should  be  to  show  kindness  once  to  a 
dependent  when  sick,  and  to  use  him 
ten  times  the  worse  for  it  when  he  is 
well,  upbraiding  him  for  such  past  fa- 
vors, as  if  one  should  say:  *  Alack, 
be  as  kind  as  you  will,  see  what  return 
you  do  meet  with!'" 

This  last  piece  of  ingenuity  was  al- 
lowed by  the  court  to  surpass  the  first. 
"  Now,"  I  cried,  "what  should  be  the 
greatest  torment  a  parent  could  inflict 
on  a  child  ?  " 

Martin  answered:  "  If  it  should  be 
fond  of  public  diversion,  to  confine  it 
in-doors.  If  retirement  suits  its  tem- 
per, to  compel  it  abroad.  If  it  should 
delight  in  the  theatre,  to  take  it  to  see 
a  good  play,  and  at  the  moment  when 
the  plot  shall  wax  most  moving,  to  say 
it  must  be  tired,  and  procure  to  send 
it  home.  Or,  in  more  weighty  mat- 
ters,— a  daughter's  marriage,  for  in- 
stance,— ^to  detect  if  the  wench  hath 
set  her  hearten  one  lover,  and  if  so,  to 
keep  from  her  the  knowledge  of  this 
gentleman's  addresses  ;  and  when  she 
hath  accepted  another,  to  let  her  know 
the  first  had  sued  for  her  hand,  and 
been  dismissed. " 

Here  all  the  young  gentlewomen  did 
exclaim  that  Master  Sherwood  could 
by  no  means  think  of  a  more  skilful 
torment  than  this  should  prove.  He 
thought  for  an  instant,  and  then  said : 

"  It  should  be  a  finer  and  more  deli- 
cate torment  to  stir  up  in  a  young  gen- 
tlewoman's mind  suspicions  of  one  she 
loved,  and  so  work  on  her  natural  pas- 


sions of  jealousy  and  pride,  that  sac 
should  herself,  in  a  hasty  mood,  discard 
her  lover;  and  ever  after,  when  the 
act  was  not  recallable,  remind  her  she 
herself  had  wrought  her  own  unhap- 
piness,  and  wounded  one  she  loved." 

"  Yea,  that  should  be  worse  than  the 
first  torment,"  all  but  one  young  lady 
cried  out ;  who,  for  her  part,  could  bet- 
ter endure,  she  said,  to  have  injured 
herself  than  to  be  deceived,  as  in  the 
first  case. 

"Then  do  come  husbands,"  quoth 
Mr.  Martin;  "and  I  vow,"  he  cried, 
"  I  know  not  how  to  credit  there  be 
such  vile  wretches  in  the  world  as 
should  wish  to  torment  their  wives ; 
but  if  such  there  be,  methinks  the 
surest  method  they  may  practise  is,  to 
loving  wives  to  show  indiiFerency ;  to 
such  as  be  jealous,  secrecy ;  to  such  as 
be  pious,  profaneness;  and  the  like  in 
all  the  points  whereon  their  affections 
are  set." 

"Alack  !"  cried  Mistress  Frances 
Bellamy,  "  what  a  study  the  man  hath 
made  of  this  fine  art!  Gentlewomen 
should  needs  beware  of  such  a  one  for 
a  husband.  What  doth  Master  Sher- 
wood say?" 

Whereupon  he  :  "  Methinks  the 
greatest  torment  a  husband  might  in- 
flict on  a  worthy  wife  should  be  to 
dishonor  her  love  by  his  baseness ;  or 
if  he  had  injured  her,  to  doubt  her 
proneness  to  forgive." 

"  And  wives,"  quoth  Mistress  South- 
well,— "  what  of  their  skill  therein, 
gentlemen  ?" 

"  It  be  such,"  cried  Martin,  "  as 
should  exceed  men's  ability  thereof  to 
speak.  The  greatest  instance  of  tal- 
ent of  this  sort  I  have  witnessed  is  in 
a  young  married  lady,  whose  husband 
is  very  willing  to  stay  in  his  house  or 
go  abroad,  or  reside  in  town,  or  at  his 
seat  in  the  country,  as  should  most 
please  her,  so  she  would  let  him  know 
her  wishes.  But  she  is  so  artful  in 
concealing  them,  that  the  poor  man  can 
never  learn  so  much  as  should  cause 
him  to  guess  what  they  may  be ;  but 
with  a  meek  voice  she  doth  reply  to 
his  asking,  '  An  it  please  youj  sir,  let  it 


io8 


Cons-ance  Shrwood. 


be  as  you  choose,  for  you  very  well 
know  I  never  do  oppose  your  will.' 
Then  if  he  resolve  to  leave  town,  she 
maketli  not  much  ado  till  they  have 
rode  twenty  or  thirty  miles  out  of  Lon- 
don. Then  she  doth  begin  to  sigh 
and  weep,  for  that  she  should  be  a 
most  ill-used  creature,  and  her  heart 
alnost  broken  for  to  leave  her  friends, 
and  be  shut  up  for  six  months  in  a 
swamp,  for  such  she  doth  term  his  es- 
tate ;  and  if  she  should  not  have  left 
London  that  same  day,  she  should 
have  been  at  the  Lord  Mayor's  ban- 
quet, and  seen  the  French  princes, 
which,  above  all  things,  she  had  desir- 
ed. But  some  husbands  be  so  hard- 
hearted, if  they  can  hunt  and  hawk, 
'tis  little  count  they  make  of  their 
wives'  pleasures.  Then  when  she  hath 
almost  provoked  the  good  man  to 
swear,  she  hangeth  down  her  head  and 
saith,  '  Content  you,  sir — content  you ; 
'tis  your  good  fortune  to  have  an  obe- 
dient wife.'  And  so  mopes  all  the 
time  of  the  journey." 

Wliilst  Martin  was. speaking,  I  not- 
ed a  young  gentlewoman  who  did 
deeply  blush  whilst  he  spoke,  and  tears 
came  into  her  eyes.  I  heard  after- 
ward she  had  been  lately  married, 
and  that  he  counterfeited  her  voice  in 
so  precise  a  manner,  so  that  all  such 
as  knew  her  must  needs  believe  her 
to  be  the  wife  he  spoke  of;  and  that 
there  was  so  much  of  truth  in  the  pic- 
ture he  had  drawn,  as  to  make  it  seem 
a  likeness,  albeit  most  unjust  toward 
one  who,  though  apt  to  boast  of  her 
obedience,  and  to  utter  sundry  trifling 
complaints,  was  a  fond  wife  and  to- 
ward lady  to  her  dear  husband ;  and 
that  this  malice  in  Mr.  Tregony,  over 
and  above  his  wonted  spite,  was  due 
to  her  rejection  of  his  hand  some  short 
time  before  her  marriage.  Master 
Sherwood,  seeing  the  ungracious  gen- 
tleman's ill-nature  and  the  lady's  con- 
fusion, stood  up  the  more  speedily  to 
reply,  and  so  cut  him  short.  "  I  will 
relate,"  he  said,  "  a  yet  more  ingeni- 
ous practice  of  tormenting,  which 
should  seem  the  highest  proof  of  skill 
in  a  wife,  albeit  also  practised  by  hus- 


bands, only  not  so  aptly,  or  peradven- 
ture  so  often.  And  this  is  when  one 
hath  offered  to  another  a  notable  in- 
sult or  affront,  so  to  turn  the  tables, 
even  as  a  conjuror  the  cards  he  doth 
handle,  that  straightway  the  offended 
par^y  shall  seem  to  be  the  offender,  and 
be  obliged  to  sue  forgiveness  for  that 
wherein  he  himself  is  hurt.  I  pray 
you,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  can  any- 
thing more  ingenious  than  this  prac- 
tice be  thought  on  ?  " 

All  did  admit  it  to  be  a  rare  exam- 
ple of  ability  in  tormenting ;  but  some 
objected  it  Avas  not  solely  exercised  by 
wives  and  husbands,  but  that  friends, 
lovers,  and  all  sorts  of  persons  might 
use  it.  Then  one  gentleman  called 
for  some  special  instance  of  the  art  in 
lovers.  But  another  said  it  was  a  nat- 
ural instinct,  and  not  an  art,  in  such  to 
torment  one  another,  and  likewise  their 
own  selves,  and  proposed  the  behavior 
of  friends  in  that  respect  as  a  more 
new  and  admirable  theme. 

"Ah,"  quoth  Master  Martin,  Avith 
an  affected  wave  of  his  hand,  "  first 
show  me  an  instance  of  a  true  friend- 
ship betwixt  ladies,  or  a  sincere  affec- 
tion betwixt  gentlemen ;  and  then  it 
will  be  time  for  to  describe  the  arts 
whereby  they  do  plague  and  torment 
each  other." 

Mr.  Sherwood  answered, "  A  French 
gentleman  said,  a  short  time  since, 
that  it  should  be  a  piece  of  commend- 
able prudence  to  live  with  your  friend 
as  looking  that  he  should  one  day  be 
your  enemy.  Now  we  be  warranted, 
by  Master  Tregony 's  speech,  to  con- 
clude his  friendships  to  be  enmities  in 
fair  disguise ;  and  the  practices  where- 
with friends  torment  each  other  no 
doubt  should  apply  to  this  case  also ; 
and  so  his  exceptions  need  in  no  wise 
alter  the  theme  of  our  argument.  T 
pray  you,  sir,  begin,  and  name  some 
notable  instance  in  which,  without  any 
apparent  breach  of  friendship,  the  ap- 
pearance of  which  is  in  both  instances 
supposed,  one  may  best  wound  his 
friend,  or,  as  Mr.  Tregony  hath  it, 
the  disguised  object  of  his  hatred." 

I  noticed  that  Master  Martin  glanced 


Constance  Sherwood. 


log 


maliciously  at  his  adversary,  and  then 
answered,  "  The  highest  exercise  of 
hiueh  ability  should  be,  methinks,  to 
get  possession  of  a  secret  which  your 
friend,  or  disguised  enemy,  has  been  at 
great  pains  to  conceal,  and  to  let  him 
know,  by  such  means  as  shall  hold  liim 
in  perpetual  fear,  but  never  in  full  as- 
surance of  the  same,  that  you  have  it 
in  your  power  to  accuse  him  at  any 
time  of  that  which  should  procure  him 
to  be  thrown  into  prison,  or  maybe 
hanged  on  a  gibbet." 

A  paleness  spread  over  Master  Sher- 
wood's face,  not  caused,  I  ween,  by  fear 
so  much  as  by  anger  at  the  meanness 
of  one  who,  from  envy  and  spite,  even 
in  the  freedom  of  social  hours,  should 
liint  at  secrets  so  weighty  as  would 
touch  the  liberty,  yea,  the  life,  of  one 
he  called  his  friend ;  and  standing  up, 
he  answered,  whilst  I,  now  too  late 
discerning  mine  own  folly  in  the  pro- 
posing of  a  dangerous  pastime,  trem- 
bled in  every  limb. 

"  I  know,"  quoth  ne, — "  I  know  a 
yet  more  ingenious  instance  of  the  skill 
of  a  malicious  heart.  To  hang  a 
sword  over  a  friend's  head,  and  cause 
him  to  apprehend  its  fall,  must  needs 
be  a  well-practised  device ;  but  if  it 
be  done  in  so  skilful  a  manner  that  the 
weapon  shall  tlireatennot  himself  alone, 
but  make  him,  as  it  were,  the  instru- 
ment of  ruin  to  others  dearer  to  him 
than  his  own  life, — ^if,  by  the  appear- 
ance of  friendship,  the  reality  of  which 
such  a  heart  knoweth  not,  he  hath  been 
led  to  such  confidence  as  shall  be  the 
means  of  sorrow  to  those  who  have  be- 
friended him  in  another  manner  than 
this  false  friend,  this  true  foe, — the 
triumph  is  then  complete.  Malice 
and  hatred  can  devise  naught  beyond 
it.'* 

Martin's  eyes  glared  so  fearfully, 
and  his  voice  sounded  so  hoarse,  as  he 
hesitated  in  answering,  that,  in  a  sort 
of  desperation,  I  stood  up,  and  cried, 
"  Long  enough  have  these  two  gentle- 
men had  the  tallc  to  themselves. 
Verily,  methinks  there  be  no  con- 
queror, but  a  drawn  game  in  this  in- 
stance." 


But  a  munnur  rose  among  the  com- 
pany that  Master  Sherwood  was  vic- 
torious, and  Master  Tregony  should 
do  penance. 

'*What  shall  it  be?"  was  asked; 
and  all  with  one  voice  did  opine  Mas- 
ter Sherwood  should  name  it,  for  he 
was  as  much  beloved  as  Master  Treg- 
ony was  misliked.  He  (Sherwood),  al- 
beit somewhat  inwardly  moved,  I  ween, 
had  restrained  his  indignation,  and 
cried  out  merrily,  "■  Marry,  so  will  I ! 
Look  me  in  the  face,  Martin,  and  give 
me  thy  hand.  This  shall  be  thy  pen- 
ance." 

The  other  did  so  ;  but  a  fiendly  look 
of  resentment  was  in  his  eyes  ;  and 
methinks  Thomas  Sherwood  must 
needs  have  remembered  the  grasp  of 
his  hand  to  forgive  it,  I  doubt  not, 
even  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold. 

From  that  day  Martin  Tregony  con- 
ceived an  implacable  hatred  for  Mas- 
ter Sherwood,  whom  he  had  feigned  a 
great  friendship  for  on  his  first  arrival 
in  London,  because  he  hoped,  by  his 
means  and  influence  with  his  aunt,  to 
procure  her  to  pay  his  debts.  But 
after  he  had  thrown  off  the  mask,  he 
only  waited  for  an  opportunity  to  de- 
nounce him,  being  privy  to  his  having 
brought  a  priest  to  Lady  Tregony 's 
house,  who  had  also  said  mass  in  her 
chapel.  So  one  day  meeting  liim  in 
the  streets,  he  cried  out,  "  Stop  the 
traitor!  stop  the  traitor!"  and  so 
causing  him  to  be  apprehended,  had 
him  before  the  next  justice  of  the 
peace ;  where,  when  they  were  come, 
he  could  allege  nothing  against  him, 
but  that  he  suspected  him  to  be  a  Pa- 
pist. Upon  which  he  was  examined 
concerning  his  religion,  and,  refusing 
to  admit  the  queen's  church-headship, 
he  was  cast  into  a  dungeon  in  the 
Tower.  His  lodgings  were  plundered, 
and  £25,  which  he  had  amassed,  as  I 
knew,  \vho  had  assisted  him  to  procure 
it,  for  the  use  of  his  aged  and  sick 
father,  who  had  been  lately  cast  into 
prison  in  Lancaster,  was  carried  ofl 
with  the  rest.  He  was  cruelly  racked, 
we  heard,  for  that  he  would  not  reveal 
where  he  had  heard  mass ;  and  kept 


I  lO 


Constanca  S^ienoood. 


ill  a  dark  filthy  hole,  where  he  en- 
dured very  much  from  hunger,  stench, 
and  cold.  No  one  being  allowed  to 
visit  him — for  the  Tower  was  not  like 
some  other  prisons  where  Mistress 
Ward  and  others  could  sometimes 
penetrate — or  afford  him  any  comfort, 
Mr.  Roper  had,  by  means  of  another 
prisoner,  conveyed  to  his  keeper  some 
money  for  his  use ;  but  the  keeper  re- 
turned it  the  next  day,  because  the 
lieutenant  of  the  Tower  would  not  suf- 
fer him  to  have  the  benefit  of  it.  All 
he  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  do  was 
to  lay  out  one  poor  sixpence  for  a  lit- 
tle fresh  straw  for  him  to  lie  on.  About 
six  months  after,  he  was  brought  to 
trial,  and  condemned  to  die,  for  deny- 
ing the  queen's  supremacy,  and  was 
executed  at  Tyburn,  according  to  sen- 
tence, being  cut  down  whilst  he  was 
yet  alive,  dismembered,  bowelled,  and 
quartered. 

Poor  Lady  Tregony's  heart  did  al- 
most break  at  this  his  end  and  her 
kinsman's  part  in  it ;  and  during  those 
six  months — for  she  would  not  leave 
London  whilst  Thomas  Sherwood  was 
yet  alive — I  did  constantly  visit  her, 
almost  every  day,  and  betwixt  us  there 
did  exist  a  sort  of  fellowship  in  our 
sorrow  for  this  worthy  young  man's 
sufferings ;  for  that  she  did  reproach 
herself  for  lack  of  prudence  in  not 
sufficient  distrust  of  her  own  nephew, 
whom  now  she  refused  to  see,  at  least, 
she  said,  until  he  had  repented  of  his 
sin,  which  he,  glorying  in,  had  told 
her,  the  only  time  they  had  met,  he 
sfiould  serve  her  in  the  same  manner, 
and  if  he  could  ever  find  out  she 
heard  mass,  should  get  her  a  lodging 
in  the  Tower,  and  for  himself  her  es- 
tate in  Norfolk,  whither  she  was  then 
purposing  to  retire,  and  did  do  so 
after  Master  Sherwood's  execution. 
For  mine  own  part,  as  once  before  my 
father's  apprehended  danger  had  di- 
verted my  mind  from  childish  folly, 
so  did  the  tragical  result  of  an  enter- 
tainment, wherein  I  had  been  carried 
away  by  thoughtless  mirth,  somewhat 
sicken  me  of  company  and  sports.  I 
went  abroad  not  much  the  next  year ; 


only  was  often  at  IMr.  Wells's  houss, 
and  in  Hubert's  society,  which  had  be- 
come so  habitual  to  me  that  I  was  al- 
most persuaded  the  pleasure  I  took 
therein  proceeded  from  a  mutual  in- 
clination, and  I  could  observe  with 
what  jealousy  he  watched  any  whom 
I  did  seem  to  speak  with  or  allow  of 
any  civihty  at  their  hands.  Even 
Master  Sherwood  he  would  jalouse, 
if  he  found  me  weeping  over  his  fate ; 
and  said  he  was  happier  in  prison,  for 
whom  such  tears  did  flow,  than  he  at 
liberty,  for  whom  I  showed  no  like  re- 
gard. "  Oh,"  I  would  answer,  "  he  is 
happy  because.  Master  Rookwood,  his 
sufferings  are  for  his  God  and  his  con- 
science' sake,  and  not  such  as  arise 
from  a  poor  human  love.  Envy  him 
his  faith,  his  patience,  his  hope,  which 
make  him  cry  out,  as  I  know  he  doth, 
'  O  my  Lord  Jesu !  I  am  not  worthy 
that  I  should  suffer  these  things  for 
thee  ;'  and  not  the  compassionate  tears 
of  a  paltry  wench  that  in  some  sort 
was  the  means  to  plunge  him  in  these 
straits." 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  which 
did  follow,  I  heard  from  my  father, 
who  had  been  ordained  at  the  English 
College  at  Rheims,  and  was  on  the 
watch,  he  advertised  me,  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  return  to  England,  for  to  ex- 
ercise the  sacred  ministry  amongst 
his  poor  Catholic  brethren.  But  at 
which  port  he  should  land,  or  whither 
direct  his  steps,  if  he  effected  a  safe 
landing,  he  dared  not  for  to  commit  to 
paper.  He  said  Edmund  Genings 
had  fallen  into  a  most  dangerous  con- 
sumption, partly  by  the  extraordinary 
pains  he  took  in  his  studies,  and  partly 
in  his  spiritual  exercises,  insomuch 
that  the  physicians  had  almost  de- 
spaired of  his  recovery,  and  that  tlie 
president  had  in  consequence  resolved 
to  send  him  into  England,  to  try  change 
of  air.  That  he  had  left  Rheims  with 
great  regret,  and  went  on  his  journey, 
as  far  as  Havre  de  Grace,  and,  after 
a  fortnight's  stay  in  that  place,  haviiiL' 
prayed  to  God  very  heartily  for  the 
recovery  of  his  health,  so  that  lie 
might  return,  and,  without  further  de- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


1 1 


lay,  continue  his  studies  for  the  priest- 
hood, he  felt  himself  very  much  bet- 
ter, almost  as  well  as  ever  he  was  in 
his  life ;  upon  which  he  returned  to 
his  college,  and  took  up  again,  with 
exceeding  great  fervor,  his  former 
manner  of  life;  "and,"  my  father 
added,  "his  common  expression,  as 
often  as  talk  is  ministered  of  England 
and  martyrdom  there,  is  this  :  '  Viva- 
mus  in  spe  1  Vivamus  in  spe  /' " 

This  letter  did  throw  me  into  an  ex- 
ceeding great  apprehension  that  my 
father  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
queen's  officers  at  any  time  he  should 
land,  and  the  first  news  I  should  hear 
of  him  to  be  that  he  was  cast  into  prison. 
And  as  I  knew  no  Catholic  priest  could 
dwell  in  England  without  he  did  assume 
a  feigned  name,  and  mostly  so  one  of  his 
station,  and  at  one  time  well  noted  as 
a  gentleman  and  a  recusant,  I  now 
never  heard  of  any  priest  arrested  in 
any  part  of  England  but  I  feared  it 
should  be  him. 

Hubert  Rookwood  was  now  more 
than  ever  at  Mr.  Lacy's  house,  and  in 
his  library,  for  they  did  both  affection 
the  same  pursuits,  albeit  with  very  dif- 
ferent abihties;  and  I  was  used  to 
transcribe  for  them  divers  passages 
from  manuscripts  and  books,  taking 
greater  pleasure,  so  to  spend  time,  than 
to  embroider  in  Kate's  room,  the  com- 
pass of  whose  thoughts  became  each 
day  more  narrow,  and  her  manner  of 
talk  more  tasteless.  Hubert  seemed 
not  well  pleased  when  I  told  him  my 
father  had  been  ordained  abroad.  I 
gathered  this  from  a  troubled  look  in 
his  eyes,  and  an  increasing  paleness, 
which  betokened,  to  my  now  observant 
eyes,  emotions  which  he  gave  not  vent 
to  in  words  at  all,  or  leastways  in  any 
that  should  express  strong  resentment. 
His  silence  always  frighted  me  more 
than  anger  in  others.  He  had  ac- 
quired a  great  influence  over  me,  and, 
albeit  I  was  often  ill  at  case  in  his 
company,  I  ill  brooked  his  absence. 
He  was  a  zealous  Catholic,  and  did 
adduce  arguments  and  proofs  in  behalf 
of  his  religion  with  rare  ability.  Some 
of  his  writings  which  I  copied  at  that 


time  had  a  cogency  and  clearness  in 
their  reasons  and  style,  which  in  my 
poor  judgment  betokened  a  singular 
sharp  understanding  and  ingenuity  of 
learning ;  but  in  his  conversation,  and 
writings  also,  was  lacking  the  fervency 
of  spirit,  the  warmth  of  devout  aims, 
the  indifferency  to  worldly  regards, 
which  should  belong  to  a  truly  Christian 
soul,  or  else  the  nobleness  and  freedom 
of  speech  which  some  do  possess  from 
natural  temper.  But  his  attainments 
were  far  superior  to  those  of  the  young 
men  I  used  to  see  at  Mr.  Wells's,  and 
such  as  gave  him  an  extraordinary  v(i- 
putation  amongst  the  persons  I  was 
wont  to  associate  with,  which  contribu- 
ted not  a  Httle  to  the  value  I  did  set  on 
his  preference,  ofwhichno  proofs  were 
wanting,  save  an  open  paying  of  his 
addresses  to  me,  w4iich  by  reason  of 
his  young  age  and  mine,  and  the 
poorness  of  his  prospects,  being  but 
a  younger  son  of  a  country  gentleman, 
was  easy  of  account.  He  had  a  great 
desire  for  wealth  and  for.  all  kind  ot 
greatness,  and  used  to  speak  of  learn- 
ing as  a  road  to  it. 

In  the  spring  of  that  year,  my  Lord 
Surrey  left  Cambridge,  and  came  to 
live  at  Howard  House  with  his  lady. 
They  were  then  both  in  their  eight- 
eenth years,  and  a  more  comely  pair 
could  not  be  seen.  The  yea-rs  that 
had  passed  since  she  had  left  London 
had  greatly  matured  her  beauty.  She 
was  taller  of  stature  than  the  common 
sort,  and  very  fair  and  graceful.  The 
earl  was  likewise  tall,  very  straight, 
long-visaged,  but  of  a  pleasant  and 
noble  countenance.  I  could  not  choose 
but  admire  her  perfect  carriage,  toward 
her  loid,  her  relatives,  and  her  ser- 
vants ;  the  good  order  she  established 
in  her  house ;  the  care  she  took  of  her 
sister's  education,  who  in  two  years 
was  to  be  married  to  Lord  William 
Howard ;  and  her  great  charity  to  the 
poor,  which  she  then  began  to  visit 
herself,  and  to  relieve  in  all  sorts  of 
ways,  and  was  wont  to  say  the  angel.-, 
o(  that  old  house  where  God  had  been 
served  by  so  many  prayers  and  alms 
must  needs  assist  her  in  her  care  for 


112 


Constance  SJierwood. 


those  in  trouble.  My  lord  appeared 
exceedingly  fond  of  her  then.  One 
day  when  I  was  visiting  her  ladyship, 
he  asked  me  if  I  had  read  the  life  of 
that  sweet  holy  Queen  Elizabeth  of 
Hungary ;  and  as  I  said  I  had  not  met 
with  it,  he  gifted  me  with  a  copy  fairly 
printed  and  well  ornamented,  which 
Mr.  Martin  had  left  behind  him  when 
he  went  beyond  seas,  and  said : 

"  Mistress  Sherwood,  see  if  in  this 
book  you  find  not  the  likeness  of  a  lady 
which  you  mislike  not  any  more  than 
I  do.  Beshrew  me,  but  I  fear  I  may 
find  some  day  strange  guests  in  mine 
house  if  she  do  copy  the  pattern  herein 
set  down  ;  and  so  I  will  e'en  send  the 
book  out  of  the  house,  for  my  lady  is 
too  good  for  me  already,  and  I  be  no 
fitting  husband  for  a  saint,  which  a  very 
little  more  of  virtue  should  make  her." 
And  so  he  laughing,  and  she  pretti- 
ly checking  his  wanton  speech,  and 
such  sweet  loving  looks  and  play- 
ful words  passing  between  them  as 
gladdened  my  heart  to  see. 

Some  time  after,  I  found  one  day 
my  Lady  Surrey  looking  somewhat 
grave  and  thoughtful.  She  greeted  me 
with  an  afiectionate  kiss,  and  said, 

"  Ah,  sweet  Constance,  I  be  glad 
thou  art  come  ;  for  methinks  we  shall 
soon  leave  London." 

"  So  soon  ?"  I  answered. 
"  Not  too  soon,  dear  Constance,"  she 
said  somewhat  sadly. 

I  did  look  wistfully  in  her  sweet 
face.  Methought  there  was  trouble 
in  it,  and  doubt  if  she  should  further 
speak  or  not ;  for  she  rested  her  head  on 
her  hand,  and  her  dark  eyes  did  fix 
themselves  wistfully  on  mine,  as  if  ask- 
ing somewhat  of  me,  but  what  I  kncAV 
not.  "  Constance,  "she  said  at  last,  "  I 
have  no  mother,  no  sister  of  mine  own 
age,  no  brother,  no  ghostly  father,  to 
speak  my  mind  to.  Methinks  it  should 
not  be  wrong  to  unbosom  my  cares  to 
thee,  who,  albeit  young,  hast  a  thought- 
iul  spirit,  and,  as  X  have  often  obsei'v- 
cd,  an  aptness  to  give  good  counsel. 
And  then  thou  art  of  that  way  of  think- 
ing wherein  I  was  brought  up,  and 
though  in  outward  show  we  now  do 


differ,  I  am  not  greatly  changed  there- 
in, as  thou  well  knowest." 

"Alack!"  I  ciied,  "too  well  I  do 
know  it,  dear  lady;  and,  albeit  my 
tongue  is  silent  thereon,  my  heart  doth 
grieve  to  see  you  comfortless  of  that 
which  is  the  sole  source  of  true  com- 
fort." 

"  'Tis  not  that  troubles  me,"  she 
answered,  a  little  impatiently.  "  Thou 
art  unreasonable,  Constance.  My  duty 
to  my  lord  shapes  my  outward  be- 
havior; but  I  have  weighty  cares, 
nevertheless.  Dost  thou  mind  that 
passage  in  the  late  duke  our  father's 
letter  to  his  son  and  me? — that  we 
should  live  in  a  lower  degree,  and  out 
of  London  asd  from  the  court.  Me- 
thinks a  prophetic  spirit  did  move  hini 
thus  to  write.  My  lord  has  a  great 
heart  and  a  generous  temper,  and  loves 
to  spend  money  in  all  sorts  of  ways, 
profitable  and  unprofitable,  as  I  too 
well  observe  since  we  have  been  in 
London.  And  the  queen  sent  him  a 
store  of  messages  by  my  Lord  Essex, 
and  others  of  his  friends,  that  she  was 
surprised  not  to  see  him  at  court ;  and. 
that  it  was  her  highness's  pleasure  he 
should  wait  upon  her,  and  she  shall 
show  him  so  much  favor  as  he  deserves, 
and  such  like  inducements." 

"  And  liatli,  my  lord  been  to  court?" 
I  asked. 

"  Yea,  he  hath  been,"  she  answered, 
sighiqg  deeply.  "  He  hath  been  forced 
to  kiss  the  hand  which  signed  his  fa- 
ther's death-warrant.  O  Constance,  it 
is  this  which  doth  so  pain  me,  that  her 
majesty  should  think  he  hath  in  his 
heart  no  resentment  of  that  mishap. 
She  said  to  my  Lady  Berkeley  some 
days  since,  when  she  sued  for  some  fa- 
vor at  her  hands,  '  No,  no,  my  Lady 
Berkeley  ;  you  love  us  not,  and  never 
will.  You  cannot  forgive  us  your 
brother's  death.'  AVhy  should  her 
grace  think  a  son  hath  less  resentment 
of  a  father's  loss  than  a  sister  ?" 

Willing  to  minister  comfort  to  her 
touching  that  on  which  I  did,  neverthe- 
less, but  too  much  consent  to  her  thuik- 
ing,  I  said,  "In  my  lord^s  case,  he 
must  have  needs  appeared  to  mislike 


Gons'ance  Sherwood, 


113 


the  queen  and  her  government  if  he 
stayed  away  from  court,  and  his  duty 
to  his  soverci;]jn  compelleth  him  to 
render  her  so  much  homage  as  is  due 
to  her  majesty." 

"  Yea,"  cried  ray  lady,  "  I  be  of  the 
Kame  mind  with  thee,  tliat  if  my  lord  do 
live  in  London  he  is  in  a  manner 
forced  to  swim  with  the  tide,  and  God 
o.ily  knoweth  into  what  a  flood  of  troub- 
les he  may  thus  be  led.  But  I  have 
|)revatled  on  him  to  go  to  Kenninghall, 
and  there  to  enjoy  that  retired  life  his 
father  passionately  wished  him  to  be 
contented  with.  So  I  do  look,  if  it 
j)lease  God,  to  happy  days  when  we 
leave  this  great  city,  where  so  many  and 
gi-i  at  d  ingers  beset  us." 

'■■  ILive  you  been  to  court  likewise, 
dear  lady  ?"  I  asked ;  and  she  answered, 

"  No ;  her  majesty  doth  deny  me 
that  privilege  which  the  wife  of  a  no- 
bleman should  enjoy  \vithout  so  much 
as  the  asking  for  it.  My  Lord  Arun- 
fleland  my  Lord  Sussex  are  mad  there- 
on, a:id  swear  'tis  the  gipsy's  doing,  as 
tliey  do  always  title  Lord  Leicester, 
and  a  sign  of  his  hatred  to  my  lord, 
iiut  I  be  not  of  their  mind;  for  me- 
hinks  he  doth  but  aid  my  lord  to  win 
i.ii'  q  jeen',,?  favor  by  the  slights  which 
arc  [)ut  on  his  wife,  which,  if  he  doth 
take  jiaiicntly,  must  needs  secure  for 
him  sudi  favor  as  my  Lord  Leicester 
should  wish,  if  report  speaks  truly, 
none  should  enjoy  but  himself.'' 

"  Bnt  surely,"  I  cried,  "  my  lord's 
spirit  is  loo  noble  to  stomach  so  mean 
u  treatment  of  his  lady?" 

A  burning  blush  spread  over  the 
countess's  face,  and  she  answered, 

'•  0  Constance,  nobility  of  soul  is 
shaped  into  action  by  divers  motives 
and  influences.  And,  I  pray  thee, 
since  his  father's  death  and  the  loss  of 
his  first  tutor,  wdio  hath  my  lord  had 
t  J  fashion  the  aims  of  his  eager  spirit 
to  a  worthy  ambition,  and  teach  him 
virtuous  contentment  with  a  meaner 
rank  and  lower  fortunes  than  his  birth 
do  en'it'c  liim  to?  lie  chafes  to  be 
degraded,  and  would  fain  rise  to  the 
heights  his  ancestors  occupied;  and, 
ahis  !  the  ladder  which  those  vdio  beset 


him — for  that  they  would  climb  after 
him — do  ever  set  before  his  eyes  is 
the  queen's  majesty's  favor.  'Tis  the 
breath  of  their  nostrils,  the  perpetual 
theme  of  their  discourse.  Mine  ears 
sometimes  ache  with  the  sound  of  their 
oft-repeated  words." 

Then  she  broke  off  her  speech  for 
an  instant,  but  soon  asked  me  if  to 
consult  fortune-tellers  was  not  a  sin. 

"  Yea,"  I  answered,  "  the  Church 
doth  hold  it  to  be  unlawful." 

"  Ah  ! "  she  rephed,  "  I  would  to 
God  my  lord  had  never  resorted  to  a 
person  of  that  sort,  which  hath  filled 
his  mind  with  an  apprehension  which 
will  work  us  great  evil,  if  I  do  mistake 
not." 

"  Alas  ! "  I  said,  "  hath  my  lord  been 
so  deluded  ?  " 

"  Thou  hast  heard,  I  ween,"  my  lady 
continued,  "of  one  Dr.  Dee,  whom 
the  queen  doth  greatly  favor,  and  oft- 
en charge  him  to  cast  her  horoscope. 
Some  time  ago  my  lord  was  riding 
with  her  majesty  and  the  most  part  ot 
her  court  near  unto  this  learned  gen- 
tleman's house  at  Mortlake,  which  her 
highness,  taking  notice  of,  she  must 
needs  propose  to  visit  him  with  all 
her  retinue,  in  order,  she  said,  to  ex- 
amine his  library  and  hold  conference 
with  him.  But  learning  that  his  wife 
had  been  buried  only  four  hours,  her 
majesty  would  not  enter,  but  desired 
my  Lord  Leicester  to  take  her  down 
from  her  hoBse  at  the  church-wall  at 
Mortlake  and  to  fetch  the  doctor  unto 
her,  who  did  bring  out  for  her  grace's 
inspection  his  magic-glass,  of  which 
she  and  all  those  with  her  did  see 
some  of  the  properties.  Several  of  the 
noblemen  thereunto  present  were  great- 
ly contented  and  delighted  with  this 
cunning  Avitchery,  and  did  agree  to 
visit  again,  in  a  private  manner,  this 
learned  man,  for  to  have  their  nativi- 
ties calculated ;  and  my  lord,  I  grieve 
to  say,  went  with  them.  And  this 
cheat  or  wizard,  for  metliinks  one  or 
other  of  those  names  must  needs  be- 
long to  him,  predi«ted  to  ray  lord  that 
he  should  be  in  groat  danger  to  be 
overthrown   bv   a   woman.       And,   I  . 


114 


Constance  Sherwood, 


ween,  good  Constance,  there  was  a 
craft  in  this  most  deep  and  deceptive, 
for  doth  it  not  tend,  whichever  way  it 
be  understood,  to  draw  and  urge  on- 
ward my  lord  to  a  careful  seeking  to 
avoid  this  danger  by  a  diligent  serving 
{ind  waiting  on  her  majesty,  if  she  be 
the  woman  like  to  undo  him,  or  else  to 
move  him  to  the  thought  that  his  mar- 
riage— as  I  doubt  not  many  endeavor 
to  insinuate  into  his  mind — should  be 
an  obstacle  to  her  favor  such  as  must 
needs  mar  his  fortunes  ?  Not  that  my 
lord  hath  breathed  so  much  as  one  such 
painful  word  in  my  hearing,  or  abated 
in  his  kind  behavior;  but  there  are 
others  who  be  not  slow  to  hint  so  much 
to  myself;  and,  I  pray  you,  shall  they 
not  then  deal  with  him  in  the  same 
manner,  albeit  he  is  too  noble  and 
gentle  to  let  me  hear  of  it  ?  But  since 
that  day  he  is  often  thoughtful  when 
Ave  are  alone,  and  his  mind  ever  run- 
ning on  means  to  propitiate  her  majes- 
ty, and  doth  send  her  many  presents, 
the  value  of  which  should  rather  mark 
them  as  gifts  from  one  royal  person  to 
another  than  from  a  subject  to  his 
prince.  O  Constance,  I  would  Ken- 
ninghall  w^ere  a  thousand  miles  from 
London,  and  a  wild  sea  to  run  between 
it  and  the  court,  such  as  could  with 
difficulty  be  crossed ;  but  'tis  vain  wish- 
ing ;  and  I  thank  God  my  lord  should 
be  willing  to  remove  there,  and  so  we 
shall  be  in  quiet." 

"  God  send  it ! "  I  answered  ;  "  and 
that  you,  my  sweet  lady,  may  find 
there  all  manner  of  contentment." 
Then  I  asked  her  ladyship  if  she  had 
tidinsrs  of  my  Lady  I'Estrange. 

"Yea,"  she  answered;  "excellent 
good  tidings,  for  that  she  was  a  con- 
tented wife  to  a  loving  husband.  Sir 
Hammond,"  she  said,  "hath  a  most 
imperious  temper,  and,  as  I  hear,  doth 
not- brook  the  least  contradiction ;  so 
that  a  woman  less  mild  and  affection- 
ate tl^an  INIilicent  should  not,  I  ween, 
live  at  peace  with  him.  But  her 
sweet  temper  doth  move  her  to  such 
strict  condescension  to  his  humors,  that 
she  doth  style  herself  most  fortunate 
in  marriage   and    a   singular  happy 


wife.  Dost  mind  Master  Cliaucer's 
talc  of  the  patient  Grizzel,  which  Phil 
read  to  me  some  years  back,  soon  af- 
ter our  first  marriage,  for  to  give  me  a 
lesson  on  wifely  duty,  and  which  I  did 
then  write  to  thee  the  story  of?" 

"  Yea,  well,"  I  cried  ;  «  and  that  I 
was  so  angered  at  her  patience,  which 
methought  was  foolish,  yea,  wicked  in 
its  excess,  that  it  did  throw  me  into  a 
passion." 

My  lady  laughed  and  said,  indeed 
she  thought  so  too ;  but  Milicent,  in 
her  behavior  and  the  style  of  her  let- 
ters, did  mind  her  so  much  of  that 
singular  obedient  wife,  that  she  did 
sometimes  call  her  Grizzel  to  her  face. 
"  She  is  now  gone  to  reside  with  her 
husband,"  she  said,  "at  a  seat  of  his 
not  very  far  from  Lynn.  'Tis  a  poor 
and  wild  district;  and  the  people,  I 
hear,  do  resort  to  her  in  great  numbers 
for  assistance  in  the  way  of  medicine 
and  surgery,  and  for  much  help  of  va- 
rious sorts.  She  is  greatly  contented 
that  her  husband  doth  in  nowase  im- 
pede her  in  these  charitable  duties,  but 
rather  the  contrary.  She  is  a  crea- 
ture of  such  natural  good  impulses 
and  compassionate  spirit  that  must 
needs  show  kindness  to  all  who  do 
come  in  her  w^ay." 

Then  my  lady  questioned  me  touch- 
ing Muriel  and  Mistress  Ward,  and 
Kate  and  Polly,  who  were  noAV  both 
married ;  and  I  told  her  Kale  had  a 
fair  son  and  Polly  a  little  daughter, 
like  to  prove  as  sharp  as  her  mother 
if  her  infant  vivacity  did  not  belie  hei". 
As  to  Muriel  and  her  guide  and  friend. 
I  told  her  ladyship  that  few  were  like 
to  have  speech  with  them,  save  such 
as  were  in  so  destitute  a  condition 
that  nothing  could  exceed  it.  Now 
that  my  two  elder  cousins  had  left 
home,  mine  uncle's  house  was  become 
a  sort  of  refuge  for  the  poor,  and  an 
hospital  for  distressed  Catholics. 

"  And  thou,  Constance,"  my  lady 
said,  "  dost   thou  not  think  on  mar- 


L'lajje 


?» 


I  smiled  and  answered  I  did  some- 
times ;  but  had  not  yet  met  with  any 
one  altogether  conformable  to  my  liking 


Constance  Sherwood. 


115 


"  Not  Mr.  Hubert  Rook  wood  ?" 
she  said  smiling ;  "  I  have  been  told 
he  haunts  Mrs.  Lacy's  house,  and 
would  fain  be  admitted  as  Mistress 
Sherwood's  suitor." 

"I  will  not  deny/*  I  answered,  "but 
that  he  doth  testify  a  vast  regard  for 
me,^r  that  he  is  a  gentleman  of  such 
great  parts  and  exceedingly  winning 
speech  that  a  gentlewoman  should  be 
flattered  to  be  addressed  by  him;  but, 
dear  lady,"  I  continued,  opening  my 
heart  to  her,  "  albeit  I  relish  greatly 
his  society,  mine  heart  doth  not  alto- 
gether incline  to  his  suit;  and  Mr. 
Congleton  hath  lately  warned  me  to 
be  less  free  in  allowing  of  his  atten- 
tions than  hath  hitherto  been  my  wont ; 
for,  he  said,  his  means  be  so  scanty, 
that  it  behoveth  him  not  to  think  of 
marriage  until  his  fortunes  do  im- 
prove ;  and  that  his  father  would  not 
be  competent  to  make  such  settlements 
as  should  be  needful  in  such  a  case, 
or  without  which  he  should  suffer  us 
to  marry.  As  Hubert  had  never 
opened  to  me  himself  thereon  in  so 
pointed  a  fashion  as  to  demand  an  an- 
swer from  me,  I  was  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  mine  uncle's  speech ;  but  I 
found  he  had  often  ministered  talk  of 
his  passion  for  me — for  so  he  termed 
it — to  Kate  and  her  husband.'* 

"  And  did  it  work  in  thee,  sweet  one, 
no  regrets,"  my  lady  asked,  "  that  the 
course  of  this  poor  gentleman's  true 
love  should  be  marred  by  his  lack  of 
wealth  ?" 

"  In  truth  noj  dear  lady,"  I  replied ; 
"except  that  I  did  notice,  with  so 
much  of  pain  as  a  good  heart  must 
needs  feel  in  the  sufferings  of  another, 
that  he  was  both  sad  and  wroth  at 
the  change  in  my  manner.  And  in- 
deed I  had  always  seen — and  me- 
thinks  this  was  the  reason  that  my 
heart  inclined  not  warmly  toward  his 
suit — that  his  affection  was  of  that 
Bort  that  doth  readily  breed  anger ; 
and  that  if  he  had  occasion  to  mis- 
doubt a  return  from  me  of  such-like 
regard  as  he  professed,  his  looks  of 
love  sometimes  changed  into  a  scowl, 


or  something  nearly  resembling  one. 
Yet  I  had  a  kindness  toward  him, 
yea,  more  than  a  kindness,  an  attach- 
ment, which  mcthinks  should  have  led 
me  to  correspond  to  his  affection  so  far 
as  to  be  willing  to  marry  him,  if  mine 
uncle  had  not  forbade  me  to  think  on 
it ;  but  since  he  hath  laid  his  com- 
mands upon  me.  on  that  point,  me- 
thinks  I  have  experienced  a  freedom 
of  soul  and  a  greater  peace  than  1 
had  known  for  some  time  past." 

"  'Tis  well  then  as  it  is,"  my  lady 
said  ;  and  after  some  further  discourse 
we  parted  that  day. 

It  had  been  with  me  even  as  I  had 
said  to  her.  My  mind  had  been  more 
at  e*,se  since  the  contending  would  and 
would  not,  the  desire  to  please  Hu- 
bert and  the  fear  to  be  false  in  so  do- 
ing, had  been  stayed, — and  mostly 
since  he  had  urged  me  to  entertain 
him  as  a  friend,  albeit  defended  to  re- 
ceive him  as  a  lover.  And  that  peace 
lasted  until  a  day — ay,  a  day  which 
began  like  other  days  with  no  percep- 
tible presentiment  of  joy  or  sorrow, 
the  sun  shining  as  brightly,  and  no 
more,  at  its  rise  than  on  any  other 
morning  in  June ;  and  the  thunder- 
clouds toward  noon  overshadowing  its 
glory  not  more  darkly  than  a  storm  is 
wont  to  do  the  clear  sky  it  doth  in- 
vade ;  nor  yet  evening  smiling  again 
more  brightly  and  peacefully  than  is 
usually  seen  when  nature's  commotion 
is  hushed,  and  the  brilliant  orb  of  day 
doth  sink  to  rest  in  a  bed  of  purple 
glory ;  and  yet  that  day  did  herald 
the  greatest  joys,  presage  the  greatest 
anguish,  mark  the  most  mighty  begin- 
nings of  most  varied  endings  that  can 
be  thought  of  in  the  life  of  a  creature 
not  altogether  untried  by  sorrow,  but 
on  the  brink  of  deeper  waters  than  she 
had  yet  sounded,  on  the  verge  of  such 
passages  as  to  have  looked  forward  to 
had  caused  her  to  tremble  with  a  two- 
fold resentment  of  hope  and  of  fear, 
and  to  look  back  to  doth  constrain  her 
to  lay  down  her  pen  awhile  for 
to  crave  strength  to  recount  th© 
same. 


ii6 


Constance  Sherwood, 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

One  day  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
company  at  Mistress  Wells's  house, 
which  was  the  only  one  I  then  haunt- 
ed, being,  as  afore  said,  somewhat 
sickened  of  society  and  diversions. 
The  conversation  which  was  mostly 
ministered  amongst  such  as  visited 
there  related  to  public  affairs  and  for- 
(ugn  countries,  and  not  so  much  as  in 
some  other  houses  lo  private  scandals 
and  the  tattle  of  the  town.  The  un- 
certainty I  was  in  concerning  my  fa- 
ther's present  abode  and  his  known 
intent  soon  to  cross  over  the  sea  from 
France  worked  in  me  a  constant  crav- 
ing for  news  from  abroad,  and  also  an 
apprehensive  curiosity  touching  re- 
I)0i1;s  of  the  landing  of  seminary 
j)riests  at  any  of  the  English  ports. 
Some  would  often  tarry  at  Mr. 
Wells's  house  for  a  night  who  had 
lately  come  from  Rheims  or  Paris,  and 
even  Rome,  or  leastways  received  let- 
ters from  such  as  resided  in  those  dis- 
tant parts.  And  others  I  met  there 
were  persons  who  had  friends  at 
court;  and  they  often  related  anec- 
dotes of  the  quecH  and  the  ministers, 
and  the  lords  and  ladies  of  her  house- 
hold, which  it  also  greatly  concerned 
me  to  hear  of,  by  reason  of  my  dear- 
est friend  having  embarked  her  whole 
freight  of  happiness  in  a  frail  vessel 
launched  on  that  stormy  sea  of  the 
court,  so  full  of  shoals  and  quicksands, 
whereby  many  a  fair  ship  was  daily 
chanced  to  be  therein  wrecked. 

Nothing  notable  of  this  kind  had 
been  mentioned  on  the  day  I  speak  of, 
which,  howsoever,  proved  a  very  nota- 
ble one  to  me.  For  after  1  had  been 
in  the  house  a  short  time  there  came 


there  one  not  known,  and  yet  it  should 
seem  not  wholly  unknown  to  me ;  for 
that  I  did  discover  in  his  shape  and 
countenance  something  not  unfamiliar, 
albeit  I  could  not  call  to  mind  that  I 
had  ever  seen  this  gentleman  before. 
I  asked  his  name  of  a  young  lady 
who  sat  near  to  me,  and  she  said  she 
thought  he  should  be  the  elder  brother 
of  Mr.  Hubert  Rookwood,  who  was 
lodging  in  the  house,  and  that  she 
heard  he  tabled  there  also  since  he 
had  come  to  town,  and  that  he  was  a 
very  commendable  person,  above  the 
common  sort,  albeit  not  one  of  such 
great  parts  as  his  brother.  Then  1 
did  instantly  take  note  of  the  likeness 
between  the  brothers  which  had  made 
the  elder's  face  not  strange  to  me,  as 
also  perhaps  that  one  sight  of  him  I 
had  at  Bedford  some  years  before. 
Their  visages  were  very  like;  but 
their  figures  and  mostly  their  counte- 
nances different.  I  cannot  say  where- 
in that  great  differency  did  lie;  but 
methipks  every  one  must  have  seen, 
or  rather  felt  it.  Basil  Avas  the  tallest 
and  the  handsomest  of  the  twain.  1 
will  not  be  so  great  a  prodigal  of  time 
aa  to  bestow  it  on  commendations  of 
his  outward  appearance  whose  inward 
excellences  were  his  chiefest  merit. 
Howsoever,  I  be  minded  to  set  down 
in  this  place  somewhat  touching  his 
appearance  ;  as  it  may  so  happen  that 
some  who  read  this  liistory,  and  who 
have  known  and  loved  Basil  in  his 
old  years,  should  take  as  much  plea- 
sure in  reading  as  I  do  in  writing  the 
description  of  his  person,  and  linming 
as  it  were  the  resemblance  of  him  at 
a  period  in  this  history  wherein  the 
hitlierto  separate  currents  of  his  life 
and  mine  do  meet,  like  a  noble  river 


Constance  Sherwood, 


117. 


and  a  poor  stream,  for  to  flow  onward 
in  the  same  channel.         , 

Basil  Rookwood  was  of  a  tall 
stature,  and  well-proportioned  shape 
in  all  parts.  His  hair  of  light  brown, 
very  th.*ckly  set,  and  of  a  sunny  hue, 
curled  with  a  graceful  wave.  His 
head  had  many  becoming  motions. 
His  mouth  was  well-made,  and  his 
lips  ruddy.  His  forehead  not  very 
high,  in  which  was  a  notable  dissem- 
blance from  his  brother.  His  nose 
raised  and  somewhat  sharply  cut.  His 
complexion  clear  and  rosy ;  his  smile 
so  full  of  cheer  and  kindliness  that  it 
infected  others  with  mirthfulness.  He 
was  very  nimble  and  active  in  all  his 
movements,  and  well  skilled  in  rid- 
ing, fencing,  and  dancing.  I  pray  you 
who  have  known  him  in  his  late 
years,  can  you  in  aught,  save  in  a 
never-altered  sweetness  mixing  with 
the  dignity  of  age,  trace  in  this  picture 
a  likeness  to  Basil,  your  Basil  and 
mine  ? 

I  care  not,  i:i  writing  this  plain 
t.howing  of  mine  own  life,  to  use  such 
lisguises    as  are  observed   in    love- 

tories,  whereby  the  reader  is  kept 
ignorant  of  that  which  is  to  follow  un- 
til in  due  time  the  course  of  the  tale 
doth  unfold  it.  No,  I  may  not  write 
Basil's  name  as  that  of  a  stranger. 
Not  for  the  space  of  one  page ;  nay, 
not  with  so  much  as  one  stroke  of  my 
pen  can  I  dissemble  the  love  which 
had  its  dawn  on  the  day  I  have  noted. 
It  was  sudden  in  its  beginnings,  yet 
steady  in  its  progress.  It  deepened 
and  widened  with  the  course  of  years, 
even  as  a  rivulet  doth  start  Avith  a  live- 
ly force  from  its  source,  and,  gathering 
strength   as   it  flows,   grows     into  a 

broad  and  noble  river.  It  was  ardent 
but  not  idolatrous  ;  sudden,  as  I  have 
said,  in  its  rise,  but  not  unconsidered. 
It  w^as  founded  on  high  esteem  on  the 
one  side,  on  the  other  an  inexpressible 

enderness  and   kindness.      Religion, 

lonor,  and  duty,  were  the  cements  of 
this  love.  No  blind  dotage;  but  a 
deathless  bond  of  true  sympathy, 
making  that  equal  which  in  itself  was 

unequal ;  for,  if  a  vain  world  should 


have  deemed  that  on  the  one  side 
there-  did  appear  some  greater  bril- 
liancy of  parts  than  showed  in  the 
other,  all  who  could  judge  of  true 
merit  and  sound  wisdom  must  needs 
have  allowed  that  in  true  merit  Basil 
was  as  greatly  her  superior  whom  he 
honored  with  his  love,  as  is  a  pure  dia- 
mond to  the  showy  setting  which  en- 
cases it. 

Hubert  presented  to  me  his  brother, 
who,  when  he  heard  my  name  men- 
tioned, would  not  be  contented  till  he 
had  got  speech  of  me ;  and  straight- 
way, after  the  first  civilities  had  passed 
between  us,  began  to  relate  to  me  that 
he  had  been  staying  for  a  few  days 
before  coming  to  town  at  Mr.  Roper's 
house  at  Richmond,  where  I  had  oft- 
en visited  in  the  summer.  It  so  be- 
fel  that  I  had  left  in  the  chamber 
where  I  slept  some  of  my  books,  on 
the  margins  of  which  were  written 
such  notes  as  I  was  wont  to  make 
whilst  reading,  for  so  Hubert  had  ad- 
vised me,  and  his  counsel  in  this  I 
found  very  profitable ;  for  this  method 
teaches  one  to  reflect  on  what  he 
reads,  and  to  hold  converse  as  it  were 
with  authors  whose  friendship  and 
company  he  thus  enjoys,  which  is  a 
source  of  contentment  more  sufficient 
and  lasting  than  most  other  pleasures 
in  this  world. 

Basil  chanced  to  inhabit  this  room, 
and  discovered  on  an  odd  by-shelf 
these  volumes  so  disfigured,  or,  as  he 
said,  so  adorned ;  and  took  such  de- 
light in  the,reading  of  them,  but  most- 
ly in  the  poor  reflections  an  unknown 
pen  had  affixed  to  these  pages,  that 
he  rested  not  until  he  had  learnt  from 
Mr.  Roper  the  name  of  the  writer. 
When  he  found  she  was  the  young 
girl  he  had  once  seen  at  Bedford,  he 
marvelled  at  the  strong  impulse  he 
had  toward  her,  and  pressed  the  ven- 
erable gentleman  with  so  many  ques- 
tions relating  to  her  that  he  feared  ho 
should  have  wearied  him ;  but  his  in- 
quiries met  with  such  gracious  answers 
that  he  perceived  Mr.  Roper  to  be  as 
well  pleased  with  the  theme  of  his  dis- 
course as  himself,  and  as  glad  to  set 


ii8 


Constance  Sherwood^ 


forth  her  excellences  (I  be  ashamed 
to  write  the  words  which  should  in- 
deed imply  the  speaker  to  have  been 
in  his  dotage,  but  for  the  excuse  of  a 
too  great  kindness  to  an  unworthy 
creature)  as  he  had  to  listen  to  them. 
And  here  I  must  needs  interrupt  my 
narrative  to  admire  that  one  who  was 
no  scholar,  yea,  no  great  reader  at 
any  time,  albeit  endowed  with  excel- 
lent good  sense  and  needful  informa- 
tion, should  by  means  of  books  have 
been  drawn  to  the  first  thoughts  of  her 
who  was  to  enjoy  his  love  which  never 
was  given  to  any  other  creature  but 
herself.  But  I  pray  you,  doth  it  not 
happen  most  often,  though  it  is  scarce 
to  be  credited,  that  dissemblance  in 
certain  matters  doth  attract  in  the 
way  of  love  more  than  resemblance  ? 
That  short  men  do  choose  tall  wives  ; 
lovers  of  music  women  who  have  no 
ear  to  discern  one  tune  from  another  ; 
scholars  witless  housewives ;  retired 
men  ambitious  helpmates ;  and  gay 
iadi'cs  grave  husbands  ?  This  should 
seem  to  be  the  rule,  otherways  the  ex- 
ception ;  and  a  notable  instance  of  the 
same  I  find  in  the  first  motions  which 
did  incline  Basil  to  a  good  opinion  of 
ray  poor  self. 

But  to  return.  "Mistress  Slier- 
wood,"  quoth  Basil,  *'  Mr.  Roper  did 
not  wholly  praise  you ;  he  recited 
your  faults  as  well  as  your  virtues." 

I  answered,  it  did  very  much  con- 
tent me  he  should  have  done  so,  for 
that  then  more  credit  should  be  given 
to  his  words  in  that  wherein  he  did 
commend  me,  since  he  was  so  true  a 
friend  as  to  note  my  defects. 

"  But  what,"  quoth  he,  archly  smil- 
ing, "  if  the  faults  he  named  are  such 
as  pleased  me  as  well  as  virtues  ?" 

"  Then,"  I  replied,  '•  methinks,  sir, 
the  fault  should  be  rather  in  you  than 
in  her  who  doth  commit  them,  for  she 
may  be  ignorant,  or  else  subject  to 
some  infirmity  of  temper ;  but  to  com- 
mend faults  should  be  a  very  danger- 
ous error." 

"  But  will  you  liear,"  quoth  lie, 
''your  faults  as  Mr.  Roper  recited 
them  ?" 


"  Yea,  willingly,"  I  answered,  "  and 
mend  them«,lso  if  I  can." 

"  Oh,  I  pray  you  mend  them  not," 
he  cried. 

At  which  I  laughed,  and  said  he 
should  be  ashamed  to  give  such  wan- 
ton advice.     And  then  he : 

"  Mr.  Roper  declares  you  have  so 
much  inability  to  conceal  your  thoughts 
that  albeit  your  lips  should  be  forcibly 
closed,  your  eyes  would  speak  them 
so  clearly  that  any  one  who  listed 
should  read  them." 

"  Methinks/'  I  said,  willing  to  ex- 
cuse myself  like  the  lawyer  in  the 
gospel,  "  that  should  not  be  my  fault, 
who  made  pot  mine  own  eyes." 

"  Then  he  also  says,  that  you  have 
so  sharp  an  apprehension  of  wrongs 
done  to  others,  that  if  you  hear  of  an 
injustice  committed,  or  some  cruel 
treatment  of  any  one,  you  are  so 
moved  and  troubled,  that  ho  has 
known  you  on  such  occasions  to  shed 
tears,  which  do  not  flow  with  a  like 
ease  for  your  own  griefs.  Do  you  cry 
mercy  to  this  accusation,  Mistress 
Sherwood  ?" 

"Indeed,"  I  answered,  "  Godknovr- 
cth  I  do,  and  my  ghostly  father  also. 
For  the  strong  passions  of  resent- 
ment touching  the  evil  usage  our 
Catholics  do  meet  with  work  in  me 
so  mightfuUy,  that  I  often  am  in 
doubt  if  I  have  sinned  therein.  And 
concerning  mine  own  griefs,  they  have 
been  but  few  as  yet,  so  that  'tis  Httlo 
praise  I  deserve  for  not  overmuch  re- 
sentment in  instances  wherein,  if 
others  are  afilicted,  I  have  much  ado 
to  restrain  wrath." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  methinks  if  you 
answer  in  so  true  and  grave  a  manner 
my  rude  catechizing.  Mistress  j*>her- 
wood,  1  be  not  bold  enough  to  continue 
the  inventory  of  your  faults." 

"  I  pray  you  do,"  I  answered ;  for 
I  felt  in  my  soul  an  unusual  iikmg  for 
liis  conversation,  and  tlie  more  so 
when,  leaving  ofi'jesling,  lie  s.iicl,  "  The 
last  fault  Mr.  Roper  aiu  ciiarge  you 
with  was  lack  of  piiid'-ncc  m  matters 
wherein  prudence  is  Most  needed  in 
these  days," 


Constance  Sherwood. 


119 


"Alas!"  I  exclaimed;  "for  that 
also  do  I  cry  mercy ;  but  indeed, 
Master  Rook  wood,  there  is  in  these 
days  so  much  cowardice  and  time-serv- 
ing which  doth  style  itself  prudence, 
that  methinks  it  might  sometimes  hap- 
[ien  that  a  right  boldness  should  be 
called  rashness." 

liaising  my  eyes  to  his,  I  thought 
I  saw  them  clouded  by  a  misty  dew ; 
and  he  replied,  "  Yea,  Mistress  Con- 
stance, and  if  it  is  so,  I  had  sooner  that 
myself  and  such  as  I  have  a  friend- 
ship for  should  have  to  cry  mercy  on 
their  death-beds  for  too  much  rash- 
ness in  stemming  the  tide,  than  for  too 
much  ease  in  yielding  to  it.  And 
now,"  he  added,  "  shall  I  repeat  what 
Mr.  Roper  related  of  your  virtues  ?" 

"  No,"  I  answered,  smiling.  "  For 
if  the  faults  he  doth  charge  me  with 
be  so  much  smaller  than  the  reality, 
v.hat  hope  have  I  that  he  should 
speak  the  truth  in  regard  to  my  pocr 
merits  ?" 

Then  some  persons  moving  nearer 
to  where  we  were  sitting,  some  general 
conversation  ensued,  in  which  several 
look  part ;  and  none  so  much  to  my 
liking  as  Basil,  albeit  others  might 
possess  more  ready  tongues  and  a 
more  sparkling  wit.  In  all  the  years 
since  I  had  left  my  home,  I  had  not 
found  so  much  contentment  in  any  one's 
society.  His  mind  and  mine  were 
like  two  instruments  with  various 
chords,  but  one  key-note,  which  main- 
tained them  in  admirable  harmony. 
The  measure  of  our  agreement  stood 
rather  in  the  drift  of  our  desires  and 
the  scope  of  our  approval,  than  in  any 
parity  of  tastes  or  resemblance  of 
disposition.  Acquaintanceship  soon 
gave  way  to  intimacy,  which  bred  a 
mutual  fj'iendship  that  in  its  turn  was 
not  slow  to  change  into  a  Vvarmer 
feeling.  Wc  met  very  often.  It 
seemed  so  natural  to  him  to  affection 
me,  and  to  me  to  reciprocate  his  af- 
fection, that  if  our  love  began  not, 
which  methinks  it  did,  on  that  first 
day  of  meeting,  I  know  not  when  it 
had  birth.  But  if  it  be  diflicult  pre- 
cisely to  note  the  earliest  buddings  of 


the  sweet  flower  bvo,  it  was  easy  to 
discern  the  moment  when  the  bitter 
root  of  jealousy  sprang  up  in  Hubert'.-^ 
heart.  He  who  had  been  suspicious 
of  every  person  whose  civilities  I  al- 
lowed of,  did  not  for  some  time  ap- 
pear to  mislike  the  intimacy  which 
had  arisen  betwixt  his  brother  and 
me.  I  ween  from  what  he  once  said, 
when  on  a  later  occasion  anger  loos- 
ened his  tongue,  that  he  held  him  in 
some  sort  of  contempt,  even  as  a  fox 
would  despise  a  nobler  animal  than 
himself.  His  subtle  wit  disdained  his 
plainness  of  speech.  His  confiding 
temper  he  derided ;  and  he  had  me- 
thinks no  apprehension  that  a  she-wit, 
as  he  was  wont  to  call  me,  should 
prove  herself  so  witless  as  to  prefer  to 
cue  of  his  brilliant  parts  a  man  nota- 
ble for  his  indifferency  to  book  leain- 
ing,  and  to  his  smooth  tongue  and 
fine  genius  the  honest  words  and  un- 
varnished merits  of  his  brother. 

Howsoever,  one  day  he  either  did 
himself  notice  some  sort  of  particular 
kindness  to  exist  between  us,  or  he 
was  advertised  thereof  by  some  of  tho 
company  we  frequented,  and  I  sav/ 
him  fix  his  eyes  on  us  with  so  arrested 
a  persistency,  and  his  frame  waxed  so 
rigid,  that  methought  Lot's  wife  must 
have  so  gazed  when  she  turned  to- 
ward the  doomed  city.  I  was  more 
frighted  at  the  dull  lack  of  expression 
in  his  face  than  at  a  thousand  frowns 
or  even  scowls.  His  eyes  were  refl 
of  their  wonted  fire  ;  the  color  had 
flown  from  his  lips  ;  his  always  pale 
cheek  was  of  a  ghastly  whiteness  ; 
and  his  hand,  which  was  thrust  in  his 
bosom,  and  his  fcei,  which  seemed 
rooted  to  the  ground,  were  as  motion- 
less as  those  of  a  statue.  A  shudder 
ran  through  me  as  he  stood  in  this 
guise,  neither  moving  nor  speaking,, 
at  a  small  distance  from  me.  I  rose 
and  went  away,  for  his  looks  freezed 
me.  But  the  next  time  I  met  him 
this  strangeness  of  behavior  had  van- 
ished, and  I  almost  misdoubted  the 
truth  of  what  I  had  seen.  He  was  a 
daily  witness,  for  several  succeeding: 
weeks,  of  what  neither  Basil  nor  I. 


20 


Conslancj  Sherwood, 


cared  much  to  conceal — ^the  mutual 
confidence  and  increasing  tenderness 
of  affection,  which  was  visible  in  all 
our  words  and  actions  at  that  time, 
which  was  one  of  greater  contentment 
than  can  be  expressed.  That  sum- 
mer was  a  rare  one  for  fineness  of  the 
weather  and  its  great  store  of  sun- 
shiny days.  We  had  often  pleasant 
divertisements  in  the  neighborhood 
of  London,  than  which  no  city  is  more 
famous  for  the  beauty  of  its  near 
scenery.  One  while  we  ascended  the 
noble  river  Thames  as  far  as  Rich- 
mond, England's  Arcadia,  whose 
smooth  waters,  smiling  meads,  and 
liills  clad  in  richest  verdure,  do  equal 
whatsoever  poets  have  ever  sung  or 
painters  pictured.  Another  time  we 
disported  ourselves  in  the  gardens  of 
Hampton,  where,  in  the  season  of 
roses,  the  insects  weary  their  wings 
over  the  flower-beds — the  thrifty  bees 
with  the  weight  of  gathered  honey — 
and  the  gay  butterflies,  idlers  as  our- 
selves, with  perfume  and  pleasure.  Or 
we  went  to  Greenwich  Park,  and  un- 
derneath the  spreading  trees,  with 
England's  pride  of  shipping  in  sight, 
and  barges  passing  to  and  fro  on  the 
broad  stream  as  on  a  watery  highway, 
we  whiled  away  the  time  in  many 
joyous  pastimes. 

On  an  occasion  of  this  sort  it  hap- 
pened that  both  brothers  went  with 
us,  and  we  forecasted  to  spend  the 
day  at  a  house  in  the  village  of  Pad- 
dington,  about  two  miles  from  London, 
where  Mr.  Congleton's  sister,  a  lady 
of  fortune,  resided.  It  stood  in  a  veiy 
fair  garden,  the  gate  of  which  opened 
on  the  high  road;  and  after  dinner  we 
sat  with  some  other  company  which 
had  been  invited  to  meet  us  under  the 
large  cedar  trees  which  lined  a  broad 
gravel-walk  leading  from  the  house  to 
the  gate.  The  day  was  very  hot,  but 
now  a  cooling  air  had  risen,  and  the 
young  people  there  assembled  played 
at  pastimes,  in  which  I  was  somewhat 
loth  to  join ;  for  jesting  disputations 
and  framing  of  questions  and  answers, 
an  amusement  then  greatly  in  fashion, 
minded  one  of  that  fiital  encounter  be 


twixt  Marun  Tregon/  a:id  Thom;u^ 
Sherwood,  the  end  of  whicli  had  baoii 
the  death  of  the  one  and  a  fatal  injury 
to  the  soul  of  the  other.  Hubert  was 
urgent  with  me  to  join  in  the  argu- 
ments proposed;  but  I  refused,  partly 
for  the  aforesaid  reason,  and  me 
thinks,  also,  because  I  doubted  that 
Basil  should  acquit  himself  so  admir- 
ably as  his  brother  in  these  exercises 
of  wit,  wherein  the  latter  did  indeed 
excel,  and  I  cared  not  to  shine  in  a 
sport  wherein  he  took  no  part.  So  I 
set  myself  to  listen  to  the  disputants, 
albeit  with  an  absent  mind;  for  I  had 
grown  to  be  somewhat  thoughtful  of 
late,  and  to  forecast  the  future  with 
such  an  admixture  of  hope  and  fear 
touching  the  issue  of  those  passages  of 
love  I  was  engaged  in,  that  the  trifles 
which  entertair.ed  a  disengaged  mind 
lacked  ability  (o  divert  me.  I  ween 
Polly,  if  she  had  been  then  in  London, 
should  have  laughed  at  me  for  the 
symptoms  I  exhibited  of  what  she 
styled  the  sighing  malady. 

A  little  whib  after  the  contest  had 
begun,  a  sound  was  heard  at  a  distance 
as  of  a  trampling  on  the  road,  but  nol 
discernible  as  yet  whether  of  men  or 
horsss'  fee-.  There  was  mixed  witli 
it  cries  of  hooting  and  shouts,  which 
increased  as  this  sort  of  procession 
(for  so  it  should  seem  to  be)  ap- 
proached. All  who  were  in  the  garden 
ran  to  the  iron  railing  for  to  discover 
the  cause.  From  the  houses  on  both 
sides  the  road  persons  came  out  and 
joined  in  the  clamor.  As  the  crowd 
neared  the  gate  where  we  stood,  the 
words,  "Papists — seditious  priests — 
traitors,"  were  discernible,  mixed 
with  oaths,  curses,  and  such  opprobri- 
ous epithets  as  my  pen  dares  not 
write.  At  the  hearing  of  them  the 
blood  rushed  to  my  head,  and  my 
heart  began  to  beat  as  if  it  should 
burst  from  the  violence  with  which  it 
tlirobbed ;  for  now  the  mob  was  close 
at  hand,  and  we  could  see  the  occasion 
of  their  yells  and  shoutings.  .  About  a 
dozen  persons  were  riding  without  bri- 
dle or  spur  or  other  furniture,  on  lean 
and  bai'c  horses,  which  were  fastened 


**jHe  looked  pale  and  worn  tc>  a  shadow,  and  hardly  able  to  sit  on  his  hoise."'—  Page  lai. 


Constance   Slicnvoo.^. 


■121 


one  to  llic  other's  tails,  marching 
slowly  in  a  long  row,  each  man's  feet 
tied  under  his  horse's  belly,  and  his 
arms  bound  hard  and  fast  behind  him. 
A  pursuivant  rode  in  front  and  cried 
aloud  that  those  coming  behind  him 
were  certain  papists,  foes  to  the  gospel 
and  enemies  to  the  commonwealth,  for 
that  they  had  been  seized  in  the  act  of 
saying  and  hearing  mass  in  disobedi- 
ence to  the  laws.  And  as  he  made 
this  proclamation,  the  rabble  yelled 
and  took  up  stones  and  mud  to  cast  at 
the  prisoners.  One  man  cried  out, 
"  Four  of  them  be  vile  priests."  O  ye 
who  read  this,  have  you  taken  heed 
how,  at  some  times  in  your  lives,  in  a 
less  space  than  the  w^ink  of  an  eye, 
thought  has  outrun  sight?  So  did 
mine  with  lightning  speed  apprehend 
lest  my  father  should  be  one  of  these. 
I  scanned  the  faces  of  the  prisoners  as 
they  passed,  but  he  was  not  amongst 
them;  however  I  recognized,  with  a 
sharp  pain,  the  known  countenance 
of  the  priest  who  had  shriven  my  mo- 
ther on  her  death-bed.  He  looked 
pale  and  worn  to  a  shadow,  and  hardly 
able  to  sit  on  his  horse.  I  sunk  down 
on  my  knees,  w^ith  my  head  against 
the  railings,  feeling  very  sick.  Then 
the  gate  opened,  and  with  a  strange 
joy  and  trembling  fear  I  saw  Basil 
push  through  the  mob  till  he  stood 
close  to  the  horse's  feet  where  the 
crowd  had  made  a  stoppage.  He 
knelt  and  took  off  his  hat,  and  the 
lips  of  the  priests  moved,  as  they 
passed,  for  to  bless  him.  Murmurs 
rose  from  the  rabble,  but  he  took  no 
heed  of  them.  Till  the  last  horseman 
liad  gone  by  he  stood  Tvith  his  head 
uncovered,  and  then  slowly  returned, 
none  daring  to  touch  him.  "  Basil, 
dear  Basil!"  I  cried,  and,  weeping, 
gave  him  my  hand.  It  was  the  first 
time  I  had  called  him  by  his  name. 
Methinks  in  that  moment  as  secure  a 
troth-plight  was  passed  between  us  as 
if  ten  thousand  bonds  had  sealed  it. 
When,  some  time  afterward,  we 
moved  toward  the  house,  I  saw  Hu- 
bert standing  at  the  door  with  the 
same    stony    rigid    look    wliicli    had 


frighted  me  once  before.  He  said  n(;t 
one  word  as  I  passed  him.  I  have 
since  heard  that  a  lady,  endowed  with 
more  sharpness  than  prudence  or 
kindness,  had  thus  addressed  him  en 
this  occasion  :  "  Methinks,  Master  Hu- 
bert Rookwood,  that  you  did  peiform 
your  part  excellently  w^ell  in  that  in 
genious  pastime  which  procured  us  £( 
much  good  entertainment  awhile  ago ; 
but  beshrew  me  if  your  brother  did 
not  exceed  you  in  the  scene  we  have 
just  witnessed,  and  if  Mistress  Sher- 
wood's looks  do  not  belie  her,  she 
thought  so  too.  I  ween  his  tragedy 
hath  outdone  your  comedy."  Then  he 
(well-nigh  biting  his  lips  through,  as 
the  person  who  related  it  to  me  ob- 
served) made  answer :  "  If  this  young 
gentlewoman's  taste  be  set  on  tragedy, 
then  will  I  promise  her  so  much  of  it 
another  day  as  should  needs  satisfy 
her." 

This  malicious  lady  misliked  Hu- 
bert, by  reason  of  his  having  denied 
her  the  praise  of  wit,  which  had  been 
reported  to  her  by  a  third  person. 
She  was  minded  to  be  revenged  on 
him,  and  so  the  shaft  contained  in  her 
piercing  jest  had  likewise  hit  those 
she  willed  not  to  injure.  It  is  not  to 
be  credited  how  many  persons  have 
been  ruined  in  fortune,  driven  into 
banishment,  yea,  delivered  over  to 
death,  by  careless  words  uttered  with- 
out so  much  as  a  thought  of  the  evil 
which  should  ensue  from  them. 

And  now  upon  the  next  day  Basil 
Avas  to  leave  London.  Before  he  went 
he  said  he  hoped  not  to  be  long  absent, 
and  that  Mr.  Congleton  should  receive 
a  letter,  if  it  pleased  God,  from  his  fa- 
ther ;  which,  if  it  should  be  favorably 
received,  and  I  willed  it  not  to  be  oth- 
erwise, should  cause  our  next  meeting 
to  be  one  of  greater  contentment  than 
could  be  thought  of. 

I  answered,  "  I  should  never  wis!i 
otherwise  than  that  we  should  meet 
with  contentment,  or  will  anything 
that  should  hinder  it."  Which  he 
said  did  greatly  please  him  to  hear, 
and  gave  him  a  comfortable  ho^e  of  a 
happy  return. 


122 


Constance  Sherwood. 


Hg  conversed  also  with  Mistress 
Ward  touching  tlie  prisoners  we  had 
seen  the  day  before,  and  left  some 
money  with  her  in  case  she  should 
find  means  to  see  and  assist  them, 
which  she  strove  to  do  with  the  dili- 
gence used  by  her  in  all  such  manage- 
ments. In  a  few  days  she  discovered 
Mr.  Watson  to  be  in  Bridewell,  also 
one  Mr.  Richardson  in  the  Marr-halsca, 
jind  three  laymen  in  the  Clink.  Mr. 
Watson  had  a  sister  who  was  a  Prot- 
estant, and  by  her  means  she  succeed- 
ed in  relieving  his  wants,  and  dealt 
with,  the  gaolers  at  the  other  prisons 
so  as  to  convey  some  assistance  to  the 
poor  men  therein  confined,  whose 
names  she  had  found  out. 

One  morning  when  I  was  at  Kate's 
liouse  Hubert  came  there;  and  she, 
the  whole  compass  of  whose  thoughts 
was  now  circled  in  her  nursery,  not 
minding  the  signs  I  made  she  should 
not  leave  us  alone,  rose  and  said  she 
must  needs  go  and  see  if  her  babe  was 
awake,  for  Hubert  must  see  him,  and 
he  should  not  go  away  without  first  he 
Iiad  beheld  him  walk  with  his  new 
leading-strings,  which  were  the  taste- 
fullest  in  the  world  and  fit  for  a  king's 
son;  and  that  she  doubted  not  we 
could  find  good  enough  entertainment 
in  each  other's  company,  or  in  Mr. 
Lacy's  books,  which  must  be  the  wit- 
tiest ever  written,  if  she  judged  by  her 
husband's  fondness  for  them.  As  soon 
as  the  door  was  shut  on  her,  Hubert 
began  to  speak  of  his  brother,  and  to 
insinuate  that  my  behavior  to  himself 
was  changed  since  Basil  had  come  to 
London,  which  I  warmly  denied. 

«  If,"  I  said,  "  I  have  changed—" 

"  If"  he  repeated,  stopping  my 
speaking  with  an  ironical  and  disdain- 
ful smile,  and  throwing  into  that  one 
little  word  as  he  uttered  it  more  of 
meaning  than  it  would  seem  possible 
it  should  express. 

"  Yes !"  I  continued,  angered  at  his 
defiant  looks.  "  Yes,  if  my  behavior 
to  you  has  changed,  which,  I  must 
confess,  in  some  respects  it  has,  the 
cause  did  lie  in  my  uncle's  commands, 
laid  on  me  before  your  brother's  com- 


ing to  London.  You  know  it.  Master 
Rook  wood,  by  the  same  token  that  you 
charged  me  with  unkindness  for  not 
allowing  of  your  visits,  and  refusing 
to  read  Italian  with  you,  some  weeks 
before  ever  he  arrived." 

'•  You  have  a  wqyj  obedient  disposi 
tion,  madam,"  he  answered  in  a  scorn 
ful  manner,  "  and  I  doubt  not  have  at- 
tended with  a  like  readiness  to  the  be- 
hest to  favor  the  elder  brother's  suit  as 
to  that  which  forbade  the  receiving  ot 
the  younger  brother's  addresses." 

"  I  did  not  look  upon  you  as  a  suit- 
or," I  replied. 

"  No  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  not  as 
on  a  lover  ?  Not  as  on  one  whose>  lips, 
borrowing  words  from  enamored  poe!xi 
twenty  times  in  a  day,  did  avow 
his  passion,  and  was  entertained  on 
your  side  Avith  so  much  good-nature 
and  apparent  contentment  with  this 
mode  of  disguised  worship,  as  should 
lead  him  to  hope  for  a  return  of  his 
affection  ?  Bat  why  question  of  that 
wherein  my  belief  is  unshaken  ?  I 
know  you  love  me,  Constance  Sher- 
wood, albeit  you  perad venture  love 
more  dearly  my  brother's  heirship  of 
Euston  and  its  wide  acres.  Your  eyes 
deceived  not,  nor  did  your  flushing 
cheek  dissemble,  when  we  read  to- 
gether those  sweet  tales  and  noble 
poems,  wherein  are  set  forth  tlie  dear 
pains  and  tormenting  joys  of  a  mutual 
love.  No,  not  if  you  did  take  your 
oath  on  it  Avill  I  believe  you  love  my 
brother !" 

"What  warrant  have  you,  sir,"  I 
answered  with  burning  clieek,  "to 
minister  such  tallv  to  one  who,  from  the 
moment  she  found  you  thought  of  mar- 
riage, did  plainly  discountenance  your 
suit?" 

"  You  were  content,  then,  madam, 
to  be  worsliipped  as  an  idol,"  he  bitterly 
replied,  "  if  only  not  sued  for  in  mar- 
riage by  a  poor  man." 

My  sin  found  me  out  then,  and  the 
hard  taunt  awoke  dormant  pangs  in 
my  conscience  for  the  pleasure  I  had 
taken  and  doubtless  showed  in  tlie  dis- 
guised ])rofessions  of  an  undisguised 
admiration  ;  but  anger  yet  prevailed, 


Constance  Sho'wood. 


123 


and  I  cried,  "  Think  you  to  advance 
your  interest  in  my  friendsliip,  sir,  by 
such  language  and  reproaches  as 
these  ?' 

"Do  you  love  my  brother?"  he 
said  again,  with  an  imphed  contempt 
which  made  me  mad. 

"  Sir,"  I  answered,  "  I  entertain  for 
your  brother  so  great  a  respect  and  es- 
teem as  one  must  needs  feel  toward 
one  of  so  much  virtue  and  goodness. 
No  contract  exists  between  us ;  nor 
has  he  made  me  the  tender  of  his 
hand.  More  than  that  it  behoves  you 
not  to  ask,  or  me  to  answer." 

*'Ah !  the  offer  of  marriage  is  then 
the  condition  of  your  regard,  and  love 
is  to  follow,  not  precede,  the  settle- 
ments, r  faith,  ladies  arc  very  pm- 
dent  in  these  days ;  and  virtue  and 
goodness  the  new  names  for  fortune 
and  lands.  Beshrew  me,  if  I  had  not 
deemed  you  to  be  made  of  other  metal 
than  the  common  herd.  But  whatever 
be  the  composition  of  your  heart,  Con- 
stance Sherwood,  be  it  hard  as  the 
gold  you  set  so  much  store  on,  or,  like 
wax,  apt  to  receive  each  day  some  ncAv 
•'mpress,  I  will  have  it ;  yea,  and  keep 
it  for  my  own.  No  rich  fool  shall 
s'.cal  it  from  me." 

"  Hubert  Rookwood,"  I  cried  in  an- 
ger, "  dare  not  so  to  speak  of  one  whoso 
merit  is  as  superior  to  thine  as  the  sun 
outshines  a  torchhght." 

"  Ah !"  he  exclaimed,  turning  pale 
with  rage,  "if  I  thought  thou  didst 
love  him!"  and  clenched  his  hand 
with  a  terrible  gesture,  and  ground  his 
teeth.  "  But  'tis  impossible,"  he  added 
bitterly  smiling.  "As  soon  would  I 
believe  Titania  verily  to  doat  on  the 
ass's  head  as  for  thee  to  love  Basil !" 

"Oh!"  I  indignantly  replied,  "you 
do  almost  constrain  me  to  avow  that 
which  no  maiden  should,  unasked, 
confess.  Do  you  think,  sir,  that  learn- 
ing and  scholarship,  and  the  poor  show 
of  wit  that  lies  in  a  ready  tongue, 
should  outweigh  honor,  courage,  and 
kindliness  of  heart  ?  Think  you  that 
more  respect  should  be  paid  to  one 
who  can  speak,  and  write  also,  if  you 
will,  fair  sounding  words,  than  to  him 


who  in  his  daily  doings  shovrs  forth 
such  nobleness  as  others  only  incul- 
cate, and  God  only  knoweth  if  ever 
they  practise  it  ?" 

"  Lady !"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  have 
served  you  long;  sustained  torments 
in  your  presence  ;  endured  griefs  in 
your  absence ;  pining  thoughts  in  the 
day,  and  anguished  dreams  in  the 
night ;  jealousies  often  in  times  past, 
and  now — " 

He  drew  in  his  breath ;  and  then 
not  so  much  speaking  the  word  "  de- 
spair" as  with  a  smothered  vehemence 
uttering  it,  he  concluded  his  vehement 
address. 

I  was  so  shaken  by  his  speech  that 
I  remained  silent :  for  if  I  had  spoken 
I  must  needs  have  vv'ept.  Holding  ray 
head  with  both  hands,  and  so  shielding 
my  eyes  from  the  sight  of  Us  pale 
convulsed  face,  I  sat  hkc  one  trans- 
fixed. Then  he  again :  "  These  be 
not  times.  Mistress  Sherwood,  for  v.o- 
men  to  act  as  you  have  done  ;  to  lift  a 
man's  heart  one  while  to  an  earthly 
heaven,  and  then,  without  so  much  a 
a  thought,  to  cast  him  into  a  hellisl 
sea  of  woes.  These  be  the  dealings 
which  drive  men  to  desperation  ;  to 
attempt  things  contrary  to  their  own 
minds,  to  religion,  and  to  honesty ;  to 
courses  once  abhorred — " 

His  violence  wrung  my  heart  then 
vv'ith  so  keen  a  remorse  that  I  cried 
out,  "  I  cry  you  mercy.  Master  Rook- 
wood, if  I  have  dealt  thus  with  you  ; 
indeed  I  thought  not  to  do  it.  I  pray 
you  forgive  me,  if  unwittingly,  albeit 
peradventure  in  a  heedless  manner,  I 
have  done  you  so  much  wrong  as  your 
words  do  charge  me  with."  And  then 
tears  I  could  not  stay  began  to  flow  ; 
and  for  awhile  no  talk  ensued.  But 
after  a  little  time  he  spoke  in  a  voice 
so  changed  and  dissimilar  in  manner, 
that  I  looked  up  wholly  amazed. 

"  Sweet  Constance,"  he  said,  "  I 
have  played  the  fool  in  my  custom- 
able fashion,  and  by  sucli  pretended 
slanders  of  one  I  should  rather  incline 
to  commend  beyond  his  deserts,  if 
that  were  possible,  than  to  give  him 
vile   terms,   have  sought — I  cry  you 


124 


Conctcnicc  Sherwood. 


mercy  for  it — to  discover  your  senti- 
ments, and  feigned  a  resentment  and 
a  passion  Avhich  indeed  has  proved  an 
excellent  piece  of  acting,  if  I  judge  by 
your  tears.  I  pray  you  pardon  and 
Ibrget  my  brotherly  device.  If  you 
love  Basil — as  I  misdoubt  not  he 
loves  you — where  shall  a  more  suita- 
ble match  be  found,  or  one  "which  eve- 
ry one  must  needs  so  much  approve  ? 
Marry,  sweet  lady  ;  I  will  be  his  best 
man  wlien  he  doth  ride  to  church  with 
you,  and  cry  'Amen'  more  loudly  than 
the  clerk.  So  now  dart  no  more 
vengeful  lightnings  from  thine  eyes, 
Bweet  one  ;  and  wipe  away  the  pearly 
drops  my  unmannerly  jesting  hath 
caused  to  flow.  I  would  not  Basil 
had  w^edded  a  lady  in  love  with  his 
pelf,  not  with  himself." 

"I  detest  tricks,"  I  cried,  "and 
Guch  feigning  as  you  do  confess  to.  I 
would  I  had  not  answered  one  word 
of  your  false  discourse." 

Now  I  wept  for  vexation  to  have 
been  so  circumvented  and  befooled  as  to 
O'.vn  some  sort  of  love  for  a  man  who 
had  not  yet  openly  addressed  me.  And 
albeit  reassured  in  some  wise,  touch- 
ing what  my  conscience  had  charged 
me  with  when  I  heard  Hubert's  vehe- 
ment reproaches,  I  misdoubted  his 
present  sincerity.  He  searched  my 
face  with  a  keen  mves ligation,  for  to 
detect,  I  ween,  if  I  was  most  contented 
or  displeased  with  his  late  words.  I 
resolved,  if  he  was  false,  I  would  be 
true,  and  leave  not  so  much  as  a  sus- 
picion in  his  mind  that  I  did  or  ever 
had  cared  for  him.  But  Kate,  who 
should  not  have  left  us  alone,  now  re- 
turned, when  her  absence  would  have 
been  most  profitable.  She  had  her 
babe  in  her  arms,  and  must  needs  call 
on  Hubert  to  praise  its  beauty  and  list 
to  its  sweet  crowing.  In  truth,  a  more 
winsome,  gracious  creature  could  not 
be  seen ;  and  albeit  I  had  made  an 
impatient  gesture  when  she  entered, 
my  arms  soon  eased  liers  of  their  fair 
burthen,  and  I  set  to  playing  with  the 
boy,  and  Hubert  talking  and  laughing 
in  such  good  cheer,  that  I  began  to 
credit  his  passion  had  been  feigning, 


and  his  indlCcrcncy  to  be  tnic,  wlilch 
contented  mc  not  a  little. 

A  few  days  afterward  Mr.  Conglc- 
ton  received  a  letter,  in  the  evening, 
when  we  were  sitting  in  my  aunt's  room, 
and  a  sudden  fluttering  m  my  heart 
whispered  it  should  be  from  Basil's  fa- 
ther. Mine  eyes  affixed  themselves 
on  the  cover,  which  had  fallen  on  the 
ground,  and  then  travelled  to  my  un- 
cle's face,  wherein  was  a  smile  which 
seemed  to  say,  "This  is  no  other  than 
what  I  did  expect."  He  put  it  down 
on  the  table,  and  his  hand  over  it. 
My  aunt  said  he  should  tell  us  the 
news  he  had  received,  to  make  us 
merry ;  for  that  the  fog  had  given  her 
the  vapors,  and  she  had  need  of  some 
good  entertainment. 

"  News !"  quoth  he.  "  What  news 
do  you  look  for,  good  wife?" 

"Itwould  not  be  news,  sir,"  she  an- 
swered, "  if  I  expected  it." 

"  That  is  more  sharp  than  true,"  ho 
rephed.  "  There  must  needs  come 
news  of  the  queen  of  France's  lying- 
in;  but  I  pray  you  how  will  it  bei'* 
Shall  she  Hve  and  do  well  ?  Shall  it 
be  a  prince  or  a  princess  ?" 

"  Prithee,  no  disputings,  Mr.  Con- 
gleton,"  she  said.  "  We  be  not  play- 
ing at  questions  and  answers." 

"Nay,  but  thou  dost  mistake,"  he 
cried  out,  laughing.  "Methinks  we 
have  here  in  hand  some  game  of  that 
sort,  if  I  judge  by  this  letter." 

Then  my  heart  leapt,  I  knew  not 
how  high  or  how  tumultuously  ;  for  1 
doubted  not  now  but  he  had  rc2eived 
the  tidings  I  hoped  for. 

"  Constance,"  he  said,  "  hast  a 
mind  to  marry  ?" 

"  If  it  should  please  you,  sir,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "  for  my  father  charged  me 
to  obey  you." 

"  Good,"  quoth  he.  "  I  see  thon 
art  an  obedient  wench.  And  thou 
wilt  marry  who  I  please  ?" 

"Nay,  sir  ;  I  said  not  that." 

"  Oh,  oh !"  quoth  he.     "  Thou  wi 
marry  so  as  to  please  me,  and  yet — ^' 

"  Not  so  as  to  displease  myself,  sir,' 
I  answered. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  another  question 


Constance  Sherwood, 


125 


Here  is  n,  gentleman  of  fortune  and 
birth,  and  excellent  good  character, 
somewhat  advanced  in  years  indeed, 
hut  the  more  like  to  make  an  indulgent 
husband,  and  to  be  prudent  in  the 
management  of  his  affairs,  hath  heard 
so  good  a  report  from  two  young  gen- 
tlemen, his  sons,  of  thy  abilities  and 
proper  behavior,  that  he  is  minded 
to  make  thee  a  tender  of  marriage, 
with  80  good  a  settlement  on  his  es- 
tate in  Suffolk  as  must  needs  content 
any  reasonable  woman.  Wilt  have 
him,  Conny?'* 

"  Who,  sir  ?  '*  I  asked,  waxing,  I 
ween,  as  red  as  a  field-poppy. 

"  Mr.  Rookwood,  wench — Basil  and 
Hubert's  father." 

Albeit  I  knew  my  uncle's  trick  of 
jesting,  my  folly  was  so  great  just 
then,  hope  and  fear  working  in  me, 
that  I  was  seized  with  fright,  and  from 
crimson  turned  so  white,  that  he  cried 
out: 

"  Content  thee,  child  !  content  thee ! 
*Tis  that  tall  strapping  fellow  Basil 
must  needs  make  thee  an  offer  of  his 
hand;  and  by  my  troth,  wench,  I 
warrant  thee  thou  wouldst  go  further 
and  fare  worse ;  for  the  gentleman  is 
honorably  descended,  heir-apparent 
to  an  estate  worth  yearly,  to  my 
knowledge,  three  thousand  pounds 
sterling,  well  disposed  in  religion,  and 
of  a  personage  without  exception.  Mr. 
Rookwood  declares  he  is  more  con- 
tented with  his  son's  choice  than  if  he 
married  Mistress  Spencer,  or  any 
other  heiress ;  and  beshrew  me,  if  I  be 
not  contented  also."  ^ 

Then  he  bent  his  head  close  to 
mine  ear,  and  whispered,  "And  so 
art  thou,  methinks,  if  those  tell-tale 
eyes  of  thine  should  be  credited.  Yea, 
yea,  hang  down  thy  head,  and  stam- 
mer '  As  you  please,  sir ! '  And  never 
.so  much  as  a  Deo  gr alias  for  thy  good 
ibrtune!  What  thankless  creatures 
women  be  !"  I  laughed  and  ran  out 
of  the  room  before  mine  aunt  or  Mis- 
tress Ward  had  disclosed  their  lips  ; 
for  I  did  long  to  be  in  mine  own 
chamber  alone,  and,  from  the  depths 
of  a  heart  over  full  of,  yea  overflow- 


ing v/ith,  such  joy  as  doth  incline  the 
knees  to  bend  and  the  eyes  to  raise 
themselves  to  the  Giver  of  all  good — 
he  whom  all  other  goodness  doth  only 
mirror  and  shadow  forth — pour  out  a 
hymn  of  praise  for  the  noble  blessing 
I  had  received.  For,  I  pray  you,  al- 
ter the  gift  of  faith  and  grace  for  to 
know  and  love  God,  is  there  aught  on 
earth  to  be  jewelled  by  a  woman  like 
to  the  affection  of  a  good  man ;  or  a 
more  secure  haven  for  her  to  anchor 
in  amid  the  present  billows  of  life,  ex- 
cept that  of  religion,  to  which  all  be 
not  called,  than  an  honorable  contract 
of  marriage,  wherein  reason,  passion, 
and  duty  do  bind  the  soul  in  a  triple 
cord  of  love  ? 

And  oh !  with  what  a  painful  ten- 
derness I  thought  in  that  moving  hour 
on  mine  own  dear  parents — ^my  mo- 
ther, now  so  many  years  dead  ;  my  fa- 
ther, so  parted  from  his  poor  child, 
that  in  the  most  weighty  concernment 
of  her  life — the  disposal  of  her  in 
marriage — his  consent  had  to  be  pre- 
sumed; his  authority,  for  so  he  had 
with  forecasting  care  ordained,  bein;; 
left  in  other  hands.  But  albeit  a 
shade  of  melancholy  from  such  a  re- 
trospect as  the  mind  is  wont  to  take 
of  the  past,  when  coming  events  do 
cast,  as  it  should  seem,  a  new  light 
on  what  has  preceded  them,  I  could 
not  choose  but  see,  in  this  good  which 
had  happened  to  me,  a  reward  to 
him  "who  had  forsaken  all  things — 
lands,  home,  kindred,  yea  his  only 
child,  for  Christ's  dear  sake.  It 
minded  me  of  my  mother's  words  con- 
cerning me,  when  she  lay  dying, 
"  Fear  not  for  her." 

I  was  somewhat  loth  to  return  to 
mine  aunt's  chamber,  and  to  appear 
in  the  presence  of  Kate  and  Polly, 
who  had  come  to  visit  their  mother, 
and,  by  their  saucy  looks  when  I  en- 
tered, showed  they  were  privy  to  the 
treaty  in  hand.  Mine  aunt  said  sho 
had  been  thinking  that  she  would  not 
go  to  church  when  I  was  married,  but 
give  me  her  blessing  at  home ;  for  she 
had  never  recovered  from  the  chilling 
she  had  when  Kiite  was  married,  and 


Constance  S^icrtoood, 


had  laid  abed  on  Polly's  wedding-day, 
which  she  liked  better.  Mistress 
Ward  had  great  contentment,  she  said, 
that  I  should  have  so  good  an  husband. 
Kate  was  glad  Basil  was  not  too  fond 
of  books,  for  that  scholars  be  not  as 
conversable  as  agreeable  husbands 
should  be.  Polly  said,  for  her  part, 
s!ie  thought  the  less  wit  a  man  had, 
the  better  for  his  v/ife,  for  she  would 
then  be  the  more  like  to  have  her 
own  way.  But  that  being  her  opinion, 
she  did  not  wholly  wish  me  joy ;  for 
she  had  noticed  Basil  to  be  a  good 
thinker,  and  a  man  of  so  much  sense, 
that  he  would  not  be  ruled  by  a  wife 
more  than  should  be  reasonable.  I 
was  greatly  pleased  that  she  thus 
commended  him,  who  was  not  easily 
pleased,  and  rather  given  to  despise 
gentlemen  than  to  praise  them.  I 
kissed  her,  and  said  I  had  always 
tJiought  her  the  most  sensible  woman 
in  the  world.  She  laughed,  and 
cried,  "That  was  small  commenda- 
tion, for  that  women  were  the  foolish- 
ost  creatures  in  the  world,  and  mostly 
such  as  were  in  love.'* 

Ah  me  !  The  days  which  followed 
,vere  full  of  sweet  waiting  and  plea- 
'sant  pining  for  the  effects  of  the  letter 
mine  uncle  wrote  to  Mr.  Rook  wood,- 
and  looking  for  one  Basil  should  write 
himself,  when  licence  for  to  address 
me  had  been  }ielded  to  him.  When 
it  came,  how  unforeseen,  how  sad 
were  the  contents !  Albeit  love  was  ex- 
pressed in  every  line,  sorrow  did  so 
cover  its  utterance,  that  my  heart 
overflowed  through  mine  eyes,  and  I 
could  only  sigh  and  weep  that  the  be- 
ginning of  so  fair  a  day  of  joy  should 
have  set  in  clouds  of  so  much  grief. 
Basil's  father  was  dead.  The  day 
after  he  wrote  that  letter,  the  cause 
of  all  our  joy,  he  fell  sick  and  never 
bettered  any  more,  but  the  contrary : 
time  was  allowed  him  to  prepare  his 
soul  for  death,  by  all  holy  rites  and 
ghostly  comforts.  One  of  his  sons 
was  on  each  side  of  his  bed  when  he 
died  ;  and  Basil  closed  his  eyes. 


CHAPTEIl  XIV. 

Basil  came  to  London  after  the  fu- 
neral, and  methought  his  sadness 
then  did  become  him  as  much  as  his 
joyfulness  heretofore.  His  grief  waa 
answerable  to  the  affection  he  had 
borne  unto  his  father,  and  to  that 
gentlemen's  most  excellent  deserts. 
He  informed  Mr.  Congleton  that  in 
somewhat  less  than  one  year  he 
should  be  of  age,  and  until  then  his 
wardship  was  committed  to  Sir  Henry 
Stafford.  It  was  agreed  betwixt  them, 
that  in  respect  of  his  deep  mourning 
and  the  greater  commodity  his  being 
of  age  would  afford  for  the  drawing  up 
of  settlements,  our  marriage  should 
be  deferred  until  he  returned  from  the 
continent  in  a  year's  time.  Sir  Henry 
v/as  exceeding  urgent  he  should  tra- 
vel abroad  for  the  bettering  as  he  af- 
firmed of  his  knowledge  of  foreign 
languages,  and  acquirement  of  such 
useful  information  as  should  hereafter 
greatly  benefit  him ;  but  methinks, 
from  what  Basil  said,  it  was  chiefly 
Avitll  the  end  that  he  should  not  be 
himself  troubled  d  uring  his  term  of  guar- 
dianship with  proceedings  touching 
his  ward's  recusancy,  which  was  so 
open  and  manifest,  no  persuasions 
dissuading  him  from  it,  that  he  ap- 
prehended therefrom  to  meet  with  dif- 
ficulties. 

So  with  heavy  hearts  and  some 
tears  on  both  sides,  a  short  time  aflter 
Mr.  Rookwood's  death,  we  did  part, 
but  withal  with  so  comfortable  a  hope 
of  a  happy  future,  and  so  great  a  se- 
curity of  mutual  affection,  that  the 
pangs  of  separation  were  softened, 
and  a  not  unpleasing  melancholy  en- 
sued. We  forecasted  to  hold  converse 
by  means  of  letters,  of  which  he  made 
me  promise  I  should  leastways  write 
two  for  his  one ;  for  he  argued,  as  1 
always  had  a  pen  in  my  hand,  it 
should  be  no  trouble  to  me  to  write 
down  my  thoughts  as  they  arose,  but 
as  for  himself,  it  would  cost  him  much 
time  and  labor  for  to  compose  such  a 
letter  as  it  would  content  me  to  re- 
ceive. But  herein  he  was  too  modest ; 


Constance  Sherwood. 


127 


for,  indeed,  iii  everything  ho  wrote,  al- 
beit short  and  mostly  devoid  of  such 
flowers  of  the  fancy  as  some  are  v/ont 
to  scatter  over  their  letters,  I  was  al- 
ways excellently  well  pleased  with  his 
favors  of  this  kind. 

Hubert  remained  in  London  for  to 
commence  his  studies  in  a  house  of 
the  law;  but  when  my  engagement 
with  his  brother  became  known,  he 
left  off  haunting  Mr.  Lacy's  house, 
and  even  Mr.  Wells's,  as  heretofore. 
His  behavior  was  very  mutable ;  at 
one  time  exceedingly  obliging,  and  at 
another  more  strange  and  distant  than 
it  had  yet  been ;  so  that  I  did  dread  to 
meet  him,  not  knowing  how  to  shape 
mine  own  conduct  in  his  regard ;  for 
if  on  tho  one  hand  I  niishked  to  ap- 
pear estranged  from  Basil's  brother, 
yet  if  I  dealt  graciously  toward  him,  I 
feared  to  confirm  his  apprehension  of 
some  sort  of  unusual  liking  on  my 
part  toward  himself. 

One  month,  or  thereabouts,  after 
Basil  had  gone  to  France,  Lady  Sur- 
rey did  invite  me  to  stay  with  her  at 
Kenninghall,  which  greatly  delighted 
me,  for  it  was  a  very  long  time  then 
since  I  had  seen  her.  The  reports  I 
heard  of  her  lord's  being  a  continual 
waiter  on  her  majesty,  and  always  at 
court,  whereas  she  did  not  come,  to 
London  so  much  as  once  in  the  year, 
worked  in  me  a  very  uneasy  appre- 
hension that  she  should  not  be  as  hap- 
py in  her  retirement  as  I  should  wish. 
I  long  had  desired  to  visit  this  dear 
lady,  but  durst  not  be  the  first  to 
speak  of  it.  Also  to  one  bred  in  the 
country  from  her  infancy,  the  long 
while  I  had  spent  in  a  city,  far  from 
any  sights  or  scenta  of  nature,  had 
created  in  me  a  great  desire  for  pure 
air  and  green  fields,  of  which  the 
neighborhood  of  London  had  afforded 
only  such  scanty  glimpses  as  Gcrved  to 
Avhet,  not  satisfy,  the  taste  for  such- 
like pleasures.  So  v/ilh  much  con- 
tentment I  began  my  journey  into 
Norfolk,  v.'hich  was  the  first  I  had 
taken  since  that  long  one  from  Sher- 
A^ood  Hall  to  London  some  years  be- 
fore.     A  coach  of  my  Lord  Surrey's, 


with  two  new  pairs  of  horses,  was  go- 
ing from  the  Charter-house  to  Ken- 
ninghall, and  a  chamber- woman  of  my 
lady's  to  be  conveyed  therein  ;  so  lor 
conveniency  I  travelled  with  her. 
We  slept  two  nights  on  the  road  (for 
the  horses  were  to  rest  often),  in  very 
comfortable  lodgings  ;  and  about  th  ; 
middle  of  the  third  day  we  did  arrive, 
at  Kenninghall,  which  is  a  place  of  so 
great  magnitude  and  magnificence, 
that  to  my  surprised  eyes  it  showed 
more  like  unto  a  palace,  yea,  a  cluster 
of  palaces,  than  the  residence  of  a 
private  though  illustrious  nobleman. 
The  gardens  which  we  passed  along- 
side of,  the  terraces  adorned  with  ma- 
jestic trees,  the  woods  at  the  back  of 
the  building,  which  then  wore  a  gaudy 
dress  of  crimson  and  golden  hues, — 
made  my  heart  leap  for  joy  to  be  once 
more  in  the  country.  But  when  we 
passed  through  the  gateway,  and  into 
one  court  and  then  another,  mc- 
thought  we  left  the  country  behind, 
and  entered  some  sort  of  city,  the 
buildings  did  so  close  around  us  on 
every  side.  At  last  we  stopped  at  a. 
great  door,  and  many  footmen  stood 
about  me,  and  one  led  me  througii 
long  galleries  and  a  store  of  empty 
chambers  ;  I  forecasting  in  my  mind 
the  while  how  far  it  should  be  to  tlic: 
gardens  I  had  seen,  and  if  the  birds 
could  be  heard  to  shig  in  tliis  great 
house,  in  which  was  so  much  fine  ta- 
pestry, and  pictures  in  higli-gilt  frames, 
that  the  eye  was  dazzled  with  their 
splendor.  A  little  pebbly  brook  or  a 
tuft  of  daisies  would  then  have  pleased 
me  more  than  these  fine  hangings, 
and  the  grass  than  the  smooth  carpets 
in  some  of  the  rooms,  the  like  of  which 
I  had  never  yet  seen.  But  these  dis- 
contented thoughts  vanished  quickly 
when  my  Lady  Surrey  appeared  ; 
and  I  had  nothing  more  to  desin; 
when  I  received  her  aff'ectionate  em- 
brace, and  saw  how  joyful  was  her 
welcome.  Methought,  too,  when  she 
led  me  into  the  chamber  wherein  slie 
said  her  time  was  chiefly  spent,  that 
its  rich  adornment  became  her,  who 
had  verily  a  queenly  beauty,  and  a 


128 


Coyistance  SJierwood. 


presence  so  sweetly  majestic  that  it 
alone  was  sufficient  to  call  for  a  reve- 
rent respect  from  others  even  in  her 
young  years.  There  was  an  admira- 
ble simplicity  in  her  dress ;  so  that  I 
likened  her  in  my  mind,  as  she  sat  in 
'hat  gilded  room,  to  a  pure  fair  dia- 
\iiond  enchased  in  a  rich  setting.  In 
die  next  chamber  her  gentlewoman 
and  chambermaids  were  at  work — 
some  at  frames,  and  others  making  of 
clothes,  or  else  spinning  ;  and  another 
door  opened  into  her  bed-chamber, 
which  was  very  large,  like  unto  a 
haU,  and  the  canopy  of  the  bed  so 
high  and  richly  adorned  that  it  should 
have  >)eseemed  a  throne.  The  tapes- 
try on  the  wall,  bedight  with  fruits 
iind  flowers,  very  daintily  wrought,  so 
that  nature  itself  hath  not  more  fair 
hues  than  therein  were  to  be  seen. 

•"  When  my  lord  is  not  at  home,  I 
mislike  this  grand  chamber,  and  do 
lie  here,"  she  said,  and  showed  me  an 
inner  closet ;  which  I  perceived  to  be 
plainly  furnished,  and  in  one  corner 
of  it,  which  pleased  me  most  for  to 
see,  a  crucifix  hung  against  the  wall, 
over  above  a  kneeling-stool.  Seeing 
my  eyes  did  rest  on  it,  she  colored  a 
little,  and  said  it  had  belonged  to  Lady 
Mounteagle,  who  had  gifted  her  with 
it  on  her  death-bed ;  upon  which  ac- 
count she  did  greatly  treasure  the  jjos- 
session  thereof. 

I  answered,  it  did  very  much  con- 
tent me  that  she  should  set  store  on 
what  had  been  her  grandmother's,  for 
verily  she  was  greatly  indebted  to 
that  good  lady  for  the  care  she  had 
taken  of  her  young  years  ;  "  but  me- 
thinks,"  I  added,  "  the  likeness  of  your 
Saviour  Avhich  died  for  you  should  not 
need  any  other  excuse  for  the  prizing 
of  it  than  what  arises  from  its  being 
what  it  is,  his  own  dear  image." 

She  said  she  thought  so  too ;  but 
that  in  the  eyes  of  Protestants  she 
must  needs  allege  some  other  reason 
lor  the  keeping  of  a  crucifix  in  her 
room  than  that  good  one,  which  never- 
theless in  her  own  thinking  she  allow- 
ed of. 

'I'hen    she  showed   rao   mine    own 


chamber,  which  was  very  commodious 
and  pleasantly  situated,  not  far  from 
hers.  From  the  window  was  to  be 
seen  the  town  of  Norwich,  and  an  ex- 
tensive plain  intersected  with  trees  ; 
and  underneath  the  wall  of  the  house 
a  terrace  lined  with  many  fair  shrubs 
and  strips  of  flower-beds,  very  pleas- 
ing to  the  eye,  but  too  far  off  for 
a  more  familiar  enjoyment  than  the 
eyesight  could  afford. 

When  we  liad  dined,  and  I  was  sit- 
ting with  my  lady  in  her  dainty  sit- 
ting-room, she  at  her  tambour-frame, 
and  I  with  a  piece  of  patch-work  on 
my  knees  which  I  had  brought  from 
London,  she  began  forthwith  to  ques- 
tion me  touching  my  intended  mar- 
riage, Mr.  Rookwood's  death,  and 
Basil's  going  abroad,  concerning  which 
she  had  heard  many  reports.  I  satis- 
fied her  thereon;  upon  which  she  ex- 
pressed great  contentment  that  my 
prospects  of  happiness  were  so  good  ; 
for  all  which  knew  Basil  thought  well 
on  him,  she  said;  and  mostly  his 
neighbors,  which  have  the  chiefest 
occasions  for  to  judge  of  a  man's  dis- 
position. And  Euston,  she  thought, 
should  prove  a  very  commendable  resi- 
dence, albeit  the  house  was  small  for 
so  good  an  estate;  but  capable,  she 
doubted  not,  of  improvements,  which 
my  fine  taste  would  bestow  on  it ;  not 
indeed  by  spending  large  sums  on  out- 
ward show,  but  by  small  adornments 
and  dehcate  beautifying  of  a  house 
and  gardens,  such  as  women  only  do 
excel  in ;  the  which  kind  of  care  Mr. 
Rook  wood's  seat  had  lacked  for  many 
years.  She  also  said  it  pleased  her 
much  to  think  that  Basil  and  I  should 
agree  touching  religion,  for  there  was 
little  happiness  to  be  had  in  marriage 
where  consent  doth  not  exist  in  so  im- 
portant a  matter.  I  answered,  that  I 
was  of  that  way  of  thinking  also.  But 
then  this  consent  must  be  veritable,  not 
extorted;  ibr  in  so  weighty  a  point  the 
least  shadow  of  compulsion  on  the  one 
side,  and  feigning  on  the  other,  do  end  by 
destroying  happiness,  and  virtue  also, 
which  is  more  urgent.  She  made  no 
answer ;  and  1  then  asked  her  if  she 


Constance  Sherwood. 


129 


liked  Kenuingliall  more  llian  London, 
and  had  ibund  in  a  retired  life  the  con- 
tentment she  had  hoped  for.  She  bent 
down  her  head  over  her  work-frame, 
Ko  as  partly  to  conceal  her  face ;  but 
how  beautiful  what  was  to  be  seen  of 
it  appeared,  as  she  thus  hid  the  rest, 
lier  snowv  neck  supporting  her  small 
head,  and  the  shape  of  her  oval  cheek 
just  visible  beneath  the  dark  tresses  of 
jet-black  hair !  When  she  raised  that 
noble  head  methought  it  wore  a  look  of 
becoming,  not  unchristian,  pride,  or 
;:;omewhat  better  than  should  be  titled 
l)ride ;  and  her  voice  betokened  more 
emotion  than  her  visage  betrayed 
when  she  said,  "  I  am  more  contented, 
Constance,  to  inhabit  this  my  husband's 
cluefest  house  than  to  dwell  in  Lon- 
don or  anywhere  else.  Where  should 
a  v.'ife  abide  -with  so  much  pleasure 
us  in  a  place  where  she  may  be  some- 
times visited  by  her  lord,  even  though 
slie  should  not  always  be  so  happy  as 
to  enjoy  his  company?  My  Lord 
Arundel  hath  often  urged  me  to  re- 
side with  him  in  London,  and  pleaded 
ihc  comfort  my  Lady  Lumley  and 
himself,  in  his  declining  years,  should 
(hid  in  my  filial  care  ;  but  God  helping 
me — and  I  tliink  in  so  doing  I  fulfil  his 
will — naught  shall  tempt  me  to  leave 
my  husband's  house  till  he  doth  him*- 
ise!f  compel  me  to  it;  nor  by  rcsent- 
jncnt  of  his  absence  lose  one  day  of  his 
dear  company  I  may  yet  enjoy." 

"O  my  dear  lady,"  I  exclaimed, 
*•  and  is  it  indeed  thus  with  you  ? 
Doth  ray  lord  so  forget  your  love  and 
!iis  duty  as  to  forsake  one  he  should 
cherish  as  his  most  dear  treasure  ?" 

"Nay,  nay,"  she  hastily  replied; 
*•  Philip  doth  not  forsake  me  ;  a  little 
neglectful  he  is"  (this  she  said  with  a 
Ibrced  smile),  "as  all  the  queen's  cour- 
tiers must  needs  be  of  their  wives  ;  for 
she  is  so  exacting,  that  such  as  stand 
in  her  good  graces  cannot  be  stayers 
at  home,  but  ever  waiters  on  her  plea- 
sure. If  Philip  doth  only  leave  Lon- 
don or  Richmond  for  three  or  four 
days,  she  doth  suspect  the  cause  of  his 
absence;  her  smiles  are  turned  to 
frowns,  and  his  enemies  immediately 


do  take  advantage  of  it.  I  tried  to 
stay  in  London  one  while  this  year, 
after  Bess  was  married ;  but  he  suf- 
fered so  much  in  consequence  from 
the  loss  of  her  good  graces  when  she 
hoard  I  w^as  at  the  Charter-house,  that 
I  was  compelled  to  return  here." 

"  And  hath  my  lord  been  to  see  yon 
since  ?"  I  eagerly  asked. 

"  Once,"  she  answered ;  "  for  three 
shprt  days.  O  Constance,  it  was  a 
brief,  and,  from  its  briefness,  an  al- 
most painful  joy,  to  see  him  in  his 
ov/n  princely  home,  and  at  the  head  of 
his  table,  which  he  doth  grace  so  no- 
bly ;  and  when  he  went  abroad  saluted 
by  every  one  with  so  much  reverence, 
that  he  should  be  taken  to  be  a  king 
when  he  is  here  ;  and  himself  so  con- 
tented with  this  show  of  love  and  ho- 
mage, that  his  face  beamed  with  plea- 
sant smiles ;  and  when  he  observed 
what  my  poor  skill  had  effected  in  the 
management  of  his  estates,  which  do 
greatly  suffer  from  the  prodigalities  of 
the  court,  he  commended  me  with  so 
great  kindness  as  to  say  he  was  not 
worthy  of  so  good  a  wife." 

I  could  not  choose  but  say  amen  in 
mine  own  soul  to  this  lord's  true  esti- 
mation of  himself,  and  of  her,  one 
hair  of  w^hose  head  did,  in  my  think- 
ing, outweigh  in  merit  his  whole 
frame ;  but  composed  my  face  lest  she 
should  too  plainly  read  my  resentment 
that  the  hke  of  her  should  be  so  used 
by  an  ungrateful  husband. 

"Alas,"  she  continued,  "this  joy 
should  be  my  constant  portion  if  an 
enemy  robbed  me  not  of  my  just 
rights.  'Tis  very  hard  to  be  hated  by 
a  queen,  and  she  so  great  and  power- 
ful that  none  in  the  compass  of  her 
realm  can  dare  to  resent  her  ill  treat- 
ment. I  had  a  letter  from  my  lord 
last  week,  in  which  he  says  if  it  be 
possible  he  will  soon  visit  me  again  ; 
but  he  doth  add  that  he  has  so  much 
confidence  in  my  affection,  that  he  is 
suie  I  would  not  will  him  to  risk  that 
w^hich  may  undo  him,  if  the  queen 
should  hear  of  it.  *  For,  Nan,*  he 
wTites,  '  I  resemble  a  man  scrambhng 
up  unto  ti   slippery  rock,  who,  if  he 


I30 


Constance  Sherwood. 


galneth  not  tlio  topmost  points,  must 
needs  fall  backward  into  a  precipice ; 
for  if  I  lose  but  an  inch  of  her  ma- 
jesty's fa.vor,  I  am  like  to  fall  as  my 
fathers  have  done,  and  yet  lower.  So 
bo  patient,  good  Nan,  and  bide  the 
t "mc  when  I  shall  have  so  far  ascended 
as  to  be  in  less  danger  of  a  rapid  de- 
scent, in  which  thine  own  fortunes 
would  be  involved.' " 

She  folded  this  letter,  which  she  had 
taken  out  of  her  bosom,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  and  I  doubt  not  with  the  same 
thought  which  was  in  mine  own  mind, 
that  the  higher  the  ascent,  the  greater 
doth  prove  the  peril  of  an  overthrow, 
albeit  to  the  climber's  own  view  the 
further  point  doth  seem  the  most  se- 
cure. She  then  said  she  would  not 
often  speak  with  me  touching  her 
troubles  ;  but  wc  should  try  to  forget 
absent  nusbands  and  lovers,  and  enjoy 
so  much  pleasure  in  our  mutual  good 
company  as  was  possible,  and  go  hawk- 
in;^  also  and  riding  on  fine  days,  and 
be  as  merry  as  the  days  were  long. 
And,  verily,  at  times  youthful  spirits 
assumed  the  lead,  and  like  two  wanton 
children  we  laughed  sometimes  with 
hearty  cheer  at  some  pleasantry  in 
which  my  little  wit  but  fanciful  humor 
did  evince  itself  for  her  amusement. 
But  the  fair  sky  of  these  sunshiny 
hours  was  often  overcast  by  sudden 
clouds;  and  weighty  thoughts,  ill  as- 
sorting with  soaring  joylity,  wrought 
sad  endings  to  merry  beginnings.  I 
restrained  the  expression  of  mine  own 
sorrow  at  my  father's  uncertain  fixte 
and  Basil's  absence,  not  to  add  to  her 
heaviness  ;  but  sometimes,  whilst  play- 
ing in  some  sort  the  fool  to  make  her 
smile,  w^hich  smiles  so  well  became 
her,  a  sharp  aching  of  the  heart  caused 
mo  to  fail  in  the  effort ;  which  when 
s!ic  perceived,  her  arm  was  straight- 
way thrown  round  my  neck,  and  she 
v.'ouM  speak  in  this  wise: 

"0  sweet  jester!  poor  dissembler  I 
llie  heart  will  have  its  say,  albeit  not 
aided  by  the  utterance  of  the  tongue. 
Believe  me,  good  Constance,  I  am 
not  unmindful  of  thy  griefs,  albeit 
somewhat  silent  concerning  them,  as 


also  mine  own;  for  that  I  eschew 
melancholy  themes,  having  a  well- 
spring  of  sorrow  ia  my  bosom  which 
doth  too  readily  overflow  if  the  sluices 
be  once  opened." 

Thus  spake  this  sweet  lady ;  but 
her  unconscious  tongue,  following  thr; 
current  of  her  thoughts  more  frequent 
ly  than  she  did  credit,  dwelt  on  tli 
theme  of  her  absent  husband ;  and  on 
whichever  subject  talk  was  ministered 
between  us,  she  was  ingenious  to  pro- 
cure it  should  end  with  some  refer- 
ence to  this  worshipped  object.  But 
verily,  I  never  perceived  her  to  ex- 
press, in  speaking  of  that  then  un- 
worthy husband,  but  what,  if  he  WmI 
been  present,  must  needs  have  moved 
him  to  regret  his  negligent  usage  of 
an  incomparable,  loving,  and  virtuous 
wife,  than  to  any  resentment  of  her 
complaints,  which  were  rather  of 
others  who  diverLodhls  affections  from 
her  than  of  him,  the  prime  cause  of 
her  grief.  One  day  that  we  walked 
in  the  pleasaunce,  slie  led  the  way  to 
a  seat  which  she  said  during  her  lord's 
last  visit  he  had  commended  for  the  fair 
prospect  it  did  command,  and  said 
should  be  called  "My  Lady's  Arbor." 

*•  He  sent  for  the  head-gardener," 
quoth  she,  "  and  charged  him  to 
plant  about  it  so  many  sweet  floweis 
and  gay  shrubs  as  should  make  it  in 
time  a  most  damty  bower  fit  for  u 
queen.  These  last  words  did,  I 
ween,  unwittingly  escape  his  lips,  and, 
I  fear  me,  I  was  too  shrewish ;  for  I. 
exclaimed,  'O  no,  my  lord;  I  pray 
you  let  it  rather  bo  z^wlitted  for  a 
queen,  if  so  be  you  would  have  me  to 
enjoy  it!'  Ho  made  no  answer,  and 
his  countenance  was  overcast  and  sad 
w^hen  he  returned  to  the  house.  1 
misdoubted  my  hasty  speech  had  an- 
gered him  ;  but  when  his  horse  camo 
to  the  door  for  to  carry  him  away  to 
London  and  the  court,  he  said  very 
kindly,  as  he  embraced  me,  'Fare- 
well, dear  heart!  mine  own  good 
Nan !'  and  in  a  letter  he  since  wrote 
he  inquired  if  his  orders  had  been 
obeyed  touching  his  sweet  countess's 
pleasure-house." 


Constance  Sherwood. 


131 


I  always  noticed  Lady  Surrey  to  be 
very  eager  for  the  coining  of  the  mes- 
senger which  brought  letters  from 
London  mostly  twice  in  the  week,  and 
that  in  the  untying  of  the  strings 
which  bound  them  her  hand  trembled 
so  much  that  she  often  said,  "  Prithee, 
Constance,  cut  this  knot.  My  fingers 
be  so  cold  I  have  not  so  much  patience 
as  should  serve  to  the  undoing  there- 
of." 

One  morning  I  perceived  she  was 
more  sad  than  usual  aftei  the  coming 
of  this  messenger.  The  cloud  on  her 
countenance  chased  away  the  joy  I 
had  at  a  letfer  from  Basil,  which  was 
written  from  Paris,  and  wherein  he 
said  he  had  sent  to  Rheims  for  to  in- 
quire if  my  father  was  yet  there,  for 
in  that  case  he  should  not  so  much 
fail  in  his  duty  as  to  omit  seeking  to 
see  him ;  and  so  gai  at  once,  he  trust- 
ed, a  father  and  a  priest's  blessing." 

*'What  ails  you,  sweet  lady?"  I 
asked,  seeing  her  lips  quiver  and  her 
eyes  to  fill  with  tears. 

*' Nothing  should  ail  me,"  she  an- 
swered more  bitterly  than  was  her 
wont.  "  It  should  be,  methinks,  the 
part  of  a  wife  to  rejoice  in  her  hus- 
band's good  fortune ;  and  here  is  one 
that  doth  write  to  me  that  my  lord's 
favor  with  the  queen  is  so  great  that 
nothing  greater  can  be  thought  of: 
so  that  some  do  say,  if  he  was  not 
married  he  would  be  like  to  mount, 
not  only  to  the  steps,  but  on  to  the 
throne  itself.  Here  should  be  grand 
news  for  to  rejoice  the  heart  of  the 
Countess  of  Surrey.  Prithee,  good 
wench,  why  dost  thou  not  wish  thy 
poor  friend  joy  "i" 

I  felt  so  much  choler  that  any  one 
should  v/rite  to  my  lady  in  this  fash- 
ion, barbing  with  cruel  malice,  or 
leastways  careless  lack  of  thought, 
this  wanton  arrow,  that  I  exclaimed 
in  a  passion  it  should  be  a  villain  had 
thus  written.  She  smiled  m  a  sad 
manner  and  answered : 

"Alas,  an  innocent  villain  I  war- 
rant the  writer  to  be,  for  the  letter  is 
from  my  Bess,  who  has  heard  others 
soeak  of  that  v/hich  she  doth  unwit- 


tingly repeat,  thinking  it  should 
be  an  honor  to  my  lord,  and  to  mo 
also,  that  he  should  be  spoken  of  in 
this  wise.  But  content  thee;  'tis  no 
great  matter  to  hear  that  said  again 
which  I  have  had  hints  of  before,  and 
am  like  to  hear  more  of  it,  maybe." 

Then  hastily  rising,  she  prepared 
to  go  abroad ;  and  we  went  to  a  lodge; 
in  the  park,  wherein  she  harbored  a 
great  store  of  poor  children  which  lack- 
ed their  parents ;  and  then  to  a  barn 
she  had  fitted  up  for  to  afford  a  night's 
lodging  to  travellers ;  and  to  tend  sick 
people — albeit,  saving  herself,  she  had 
no  one  in  her  household  at  that  time 
one  half  so  skilful  in  this  way  as  my 
Lady  I'Estrange.  I  ween  this  was 
the  sole  place  wherein  her  thoughts 
were  so  much  occupied  that  she  did 
for  a  while  forget  her  own  troubles 
in  curing  those  of  others.  A  woman 
had  stopped  there  the  past  night,  who, 
when  we  w^ent  in,  craved  assistance 
from  her  for  to  carry  her  to  her  na- 
tive village,  which  was  some  fifteen 
miles  north  of  Norwich.  She  was 
afraid,  she  said^  for  to  go  into  the 
town;  for  nowadays  to  be  poor  was 
to  be  a  wicked  person  in  men's  eyes; 
and  a  traveller  w^ithout  money  was 
like  to  be  whipi  and  put  into  the 
stocks  for  a  vagabond,  which  she 
should  die  of  if  it  should  happen  to 
her,  who  had  been  in  the  service  of  a 
countess,  and  had  not  thought  to  sec 
herself  in  such  straits,  which  she 
should  never  have  been  reduced  to  if 
her  good  lady  had  not  been  foully 
dealt  with.  Lady  Surrey,  wishing,  I 
ween,  by  some  sort  of  examination,  to 
detect  the  truth  of  her  w  ords,  inquired 
in  whose  service  she  had  lived. 

"Madam,"  she  answered,  "I  wa? 
kitchen  maid  in  the  Countess  of  Lei- 
cester's house,  and  never  left  her  ser- 
vice till  she  was  murthered  some 
years  back  by  a  black  villain  in  her 
household,  moved  by  a  villain  yet 
more  black  than  himself." 

"Murthered!"  my  lady  exclaimed. 
"It  was  bruited  at  the  time  that 
lady  had  died  of  a  fall." 

"Ay,   marry,"  quoth    the    begga-, 


132 


Constance  Sherwood. 


shaking  her  head,  "I  warrant  you, 
ladies,  that  fall  was  compassed  by  more 
hands  than  two,  and  more  minds  than 
one.  But  it  be  not  safe  for  to  say 
so ;  as  Mark  Hewitt  could  witness  if 
he  was  not  dead,  who  was  my  sweet- 
heart and  a  scullion  at  Curanor  Place, 
and  was  poisoned  in  prison  for  that  he 
offered  to  give  evidence  touching  his 
lady's  death  which  would  have  hanged 
some  which  deserved  it  better  than  ho 
did — albeit  he  had  helped  to  rob  a 
<!oach  in  Wales  after  he  had  been  dis- 
charged, as  we  all  were,  from  the  old 
place.  Oh,  if  folks  dared  to  tell  all 
they  do  know,  some  which  ride  at  the 
queen's  side  should  swing  on  a  gibbet 
before  this  day  twelvemonth." 

Lady  Surrey  sat  down  by  this  wo- 
man ;  and  albeit  I  pulled  her  by  the 
sleeve  and  whispered  in  her  car  to 
come  away — for  methought  her  talk 
was  not  fitting  for  her  to  hear,  whose 
mind  ran  too  much  already  on  melan- 
choly themes — she  would  not  go,  and 
questioned  this  person  very  much 
touching  the  manner  of  Lady  Leices- 
ter's life,  and  what  was  reported  con- 
cerning her  death.  This  recital  was 
given  in  a  homely  but  wuthal  moving 
manner,  which  lent  a  greater  horror 
to  it  than  more  studied  language 
should  have  done.  She  said  her  lady 
had  been  ill  some  time  and  never  left 
her  room  ;  but  that  one  day,  when  one 
of  her  lord's  gentlemen  had  come  from 
London,  and  had  been  examining  of 
the  house  with  the  steward  for  to 
order  some  repairing  of  the  old  walls 
and  staircases,  and  the  mason  had 
been  sent  for  also  late  in  the  evening, 
a  so  horrible  shriek  was  heard  from 
the  part  of  the  house  wherein  the 
countess's  chamber  was,  that  it 
frighted  every  person  in  the  place,  so 
that  they  did  almost  lose  their  senses  ; 
but  that  she  herself  had  run  to  the 
passage  on  which  the  lady's  bed-cham- 
ber did  open,  and  saw  some  planking 
removed,  and  many  feet  below  the 
body  of  the  countess  lying  quite  still, 
and  by  the  appearance  of  her  face  per- 
ceived her  to  be  gone.  And  when  the 
steward  came  to  look  also   (this  the 


woman  said,  lowering  her  voice,  with 
her  hollow  eyes  fixed  on  Lady  Sur- 
rey's countenance,  which  did  express 
fear  and  sorrow),  "  I'll  warrant  you, 
my  lady,  he  did  wear  a  murtherer's 
visage,  and  I  noticed  that  the  corpse 
bled  at  his  approach.  But  methink- 
eth  if  that  earl  which  rides  by  the 
queen's  side,  and  treads  the  world  un- 
der his  feet,  had  then  been  nigh,  tho 
mangled  form  should  have  raised  it- 
self and  the  cold  dead  lips  cried  out, 
*  Thou  art  the  man ! '  Marry,  when 
poor  folks  do  steal  a  horse,  or  a  sheep, 
or  shoot  the  fallow-deer  in  a  noble- 
man's park,  they  straightway  do  suf- 
fer and  lose  their  hfe ;  but  if  a  lord 
which  is  a  courtier  shall  one  day 
choose  to  put  his  wife  out  of  his  way 
for  the  bettering  of  his  fortunes,  even 
though  it  be  by  a  foul  murther,  no 
more  ado  is  made  than  if  he  had  s4iot 
a  pigeon  in  his  woods." 

Then  changing  her  theme,  she 
asked  Lady  Surrey  to  dress  a  wound 
in  her  leg,  for  that  she  did  hear  from 
some  in  that  place  that  she  often  did 
use  such  kindness  toward  poor  people 
Without  such  assistance,  she  said,  to 
walk  the  next  day  would  be  very  pain- 
ful. My  lady  straightway  began  to 
loosen  the  bandages  which  covered  the 
sore,  and  inquired  how  long  a  time  it 
should  be  since  it  had  been  dressed. 

"Four  days  ago,"  the  beggar  an- 
swered, "Lady  I'Estrange  had  done 
her  so  much  good  as  to  salve  the 
wound  with  a  rare  ointment  which  had 
greatly  assuaged  the  pain,  until  much 
walking  had  inflamed  it  anew." 

We  both  did  smile ;  and  my  lady 
said  she  feared  to  show  herself  less 
skilful  than  her  old  pupil ;  but  if  the 
beggar  should  be  credited,  she  did  ac- 
quit herself  indifferently  well  of  her 
charitable  task ;  and  the  bounty  she 
bestowed  upon  her  afterward,  I  doubt 
not,  did  increase  her  patient's  esteem 
of  her  abiHty.  But  I  did  often  wish 
that  evening  my  lady  had  not  heard 
this  woman's  tale,  for  I  perceived  her 
to  harp  upon  it  with  a  very  notable 
persistency ;  and  when  I  urged  no 
credit  should  attach  itself  to  her  re- 


Constance  Sherwood, 


133 


port,  and  it  was  most  like  to  be  untrue, 
she  affirmed  that  some  similar  sur- 
mises had  been  spoken  of  at  the  time 
of  Lady  Leicester's  death ;  and  that 
Lord  Sussex  and  Lord  Arundel  had 
once  mentioned,  in  her  hearing,  that 
'the  gypsy  was  infamed  for  his  wife's 
death,  albeit  never  openly  accused 
thereof.  She  had  not  taken  much 
heed  of  their  discourse  at  the  time,  she 
said ;  but  now  it  came  back  into  her 
mind  witli  a  singular  distinctness,  and 
it  was  passing  strange  she  should 
have  heard  from  an  eye-witness  the 
details  of  this  tragedy.  She  should, 
she  thought,  write  to  her  husband 
Avhat  the  woman  had  related ;  and  then 
she  changed  her  mind,  and  said  she 
would  not. 

All  my  pleadings  to  her  that  she 
should  think  no  more  thereon  were 
vain.  She  endeavored  to  speak  of 
other  subjects,  but  atill  this  one  was 
uppennost  in  her  thoughts.  Once,  in 
the  midst  of  an  argument  touching  the 
uses  of  pageants,  which  she  maintained 
to  be  folly  and  idle  waste,  but  which  I 
defended,  for  that  they  sometimes  serv- 
ed to  exercise  thp  wit  and  memory  of 
such  as  contrive  them,  carrying  on 
the  dispute  in  a  lively  fashion,  hoping 
thus  to  divert  her  mind,  she  broke 
forth  in  these  exclamations:  "Oh, 
what  baneful  influences  do  exist  in 
courts,  when  men,  themselves  honor- 
able, abhor  not  to  company  with  such 
as  be  accused  of  foul  crimes  never 
disproved,  and  if  they  will  only 
stretch  forth  their  blood-stained  hands 
to  help  them  to  rise,  disdain  not  to 
clasp  them !" 

Then  later,  when  I  had  persuaded 
her  to  play  on  the  guitar,  which  she 
did  excellently  well,  she  stopped  be- 
fore the  air  was  ended  to  ask  if  I  did 
know  if  Lady  Leicester  was  a  fair 
woman,  and  if  her  husband  was  at 
any  time  enamored  of  her.  And 
when  I  was  unable  to  resolve  these 
questions,  she  must  needs  begin  to 
argue  if  it  should  be  worse  never  to 
be  loved,  or  else  to  lose  a  husband's 
affection  ,  and  then  asked  me,  if  Basil 
should  alter  in  his  liking  of  me,  which 


she  did  not  hold  to  be  possible,  except 
that  men  be  so  wayward  and  incon- 
stant that  the  best  do  sometimes 
change,  if  I  should  still  be  glad  he  had 
once  loved  me. 

"If  he  did  so  much  alter,"  I  an 
swered,  "  as  no  longer  to  care  for  me, 
methinks  I  should  at  once  cast  him 
out  of  my  heart ;  for  then  it  would 
not  have  been  Basil,  but  a  fancied  be- 
ing coined  by  mine  own  imaginings,  I 
should  have  doted  on." 

"  Tut,  tut  1"  she  cried  ;  "thou  art  too 
proud.  If  thou  dost  speak  truly,  I 
misdoubt  that  to  be  love  which  could 
so  easily  discard  its  object." 

"  For  my  part,"  I  replied,  somewhat, 
nettled,  "  I  think  the  highest  sort  of 
passion  should  be  above  suspecting 
change  in  him  which  doth  inspire  it, 
or  resenting  a  change  which  should 
procure  it  freedom  from  an  unworthy 
thrall." 

"  I  ween,"  she  answered,  "  we  do 
somewhat  misconceive  each  one  th(! 
other's  meaning;  and  moreover,  no 
parallel  can  exist  between  a  wife's  af- 
fection and  a  maiden's  liking."  Then 
she  said  she  hoped  the  poor  woman 
would  stay  another  day,  so  that  she 
might  speak  with  her  again ;  for  she 
would  fain  learn  from  her  what  was 
Lady  Leicester's  behavior  daring  her 
sorrowful  years,  and  the  temper  of  her 
mind  before  her  so  sudden  death. 

"  Indeed,  dear  lady,"  I  urged,  "what 
likelihood  should  there  be  that  a  serv 
ing-wench  in  her  kitchen  should  be 
acquainted    with      a      noble      lady's 
thoughts  ?" 

"  I  pray  God,"  my  lady  said,  "  our 
meanest  servants  do  not  read  in  our 
countenance,  yea  in  the  manner  of 
our  common  and  indifferent  actions, 
the  motions  of  our  souls  when  we  be 
in  such  trouble  as  should  only  be 
known  to  God  and  one  true  friend." 

Lady  Surrey  sent  in  the  morning  foi 
to  inquire  if  the  beggar  was  gone.  To 
my  no  small  content  she  had  departed 
before  break  of  day.  Some  days  af- 
terward a  messenger  from  London 
brought  to  my  lady,  from  Arundel 
House,  a  letter  from  my  Lady  Lum- 


134 


Constance  Sherwood. 


ley,  wherein  she  urged  her  to  repair 
instantly  to  London,  for  that  the  earl, 
her  grandfather,  was  very  grievously 
sick,  and  desired  for  to  see  her.  My 
lady  resolved  to  go  that  very  day,  and 
straightway  gave  orders  touching  the 
manner  of  her  journey,  and  desired 
her  coach  to  be  made  ready.  She 
proposed  that  the  while  she  was  ab- 
sent I  should  pay  a  visit  to  Lady  I'Es- 
trange,  which  I  had  promised  for  to  do 
before  I  left  Norfolkshire ;  "  and  then," 
quoth  my  lady,  "  if  my  good  Lord  Ar- 
undel doth  improve  in  his  health,  so 
that  nothing  shall  detain  me  at  Lon- 
don, I  will  return  to  my  banishment, 
wherein  my  best  comfort  shall  ever 
be  thy  company,  good  Constance. 
But  if  peradventurc  my  lord  should 
will  me  to  stay  with  him"  (oh,  how  her 
eyes  did  brighten !  and  the  fluttering 
of  her  heart  could  be  perceived  in  her 
quick  speech  and  the  heaving  of  her 
bosom  as  she  said  these  words),  "  I 
will  then  send  one  of  my  gentlewomen 
to  fetch  thee  from  Lynn  Court  to  Lon- 
don ;  and  if  that  should  happen,  why 
methinks  our  msetmg  may  prove  more 
merry  than  our  parting." 

.  She  then  dispatched  a  messenger 
on  horseback  to  Sir  Hammond  I'Es- 
trange's  house,  which  did  return  in 
some  hours  with  a  very  obliging  an- 
swer ;  for  his  lady  did  write  that  she 
almost  hoped  my  Lady  Surrey  would 
be  detained  in  London,  if  so  be  it 
would  not  discontent  her,  and  so  she 
should  herself  have  the  pleasure  of 
ray  company  for  a  longer  time,  which 
was  what  she  greatly  desired. 

For  some  miles,  when  she  started, 
I  rode  with  my  lady  in  her  coach,  and 
then  mounted  on  a  horse  she  had  pro- 
vided for  my  commodity,  and,  accom- 
panied by  two  persons  of  her  house- 
hold, went  to  Sir  Hammond  TEs- 
trango's  seat.  It  stood  in  a  bleak 
country  without  scarce  so  much  as 
one  tree  in  its  neighborhood,  but  a 
store  of  purple  heath,  then  in  flower, 
surrounding  it  on  all  sides.  As  we 
approached  unto  it,  I  for  the  first  time 
beheld  the  sea.  The  heath  had 
minded  me  of  Cannock  Chase  and  my 


childhood.  '  I  ween  not  what  the  sea 
caused  me  to  think  of;  only  I  know 
that  the  waves  which  I  heard  break 
on  the  shore  had,  to  my  thinking,  a 
wonderful  music,  so  exceeding  sweet 
and  pleasant  to  mine  ears  that  one 
only  sound  of  it  v/cre  able  to  bring,  so  ' 
it  did  seem  to  me,  all  the  hearts  of 
this  world  asleep.  Yet  although  I 
listed  thereunto  with  a  quiet  joy,  and 
mine  eyes  rested  on  those  vasty 
depths  with  so  much  contentment,  as 
if  perceiving  therein  some  image  of 
the  eternity  which  doth  await  us,  the 
words  which  rose  in  my  mind,  and 
which  methinks  my  lips  also  framed, 
were  these  of  Holy  Writ :  "  Great  as 
the  sea  is  thy  destruction."  If  it  be 
not  that  some  good  angel  whispered 
them  in  mine  ear  for  to  temper,  by  a 
sort  of  forecasting  of  what  was  soon 
to  follow,  present  gladness,  I  know 
not  what  should  have  caused  so  great 
a  dissimilarity  between  my  then 
thinking  and  the  words  I  did  unwit- 
tingly utter. 

Lady  I'Estrange  met  me  on  the 
steps  of  her  house,  which  was  small, 
but  such  as  became  a  gentleman  of 
good  fortune,  and  lacking  none  of  the 
commodities  habitual  to  such  country 
habitations.  The  garden  at  the  back 
of  it  was  a  true  labyrinth  of  sweets  ; 
and  an  orchard  on  one  e.ide  of  it,  and 
a  wood  of  fir-trees  beyond  the  wall, 
shielded  the  shrubs  which  grew  there- 
in from  the  wild  sea-blasts.  Milicent 
was  delighted  for  to  show  me  every 
part  of  this  her  home.  The  bettering 
of  her  fortunes  had  not  wrought  any 
change  ia  the  gentle  humility  of  this 
young  lady.  The  attractive  sweet- 
ness of  her  manner  was  the  same,  al- 
beit mistress  of  a  house  of  her  own. 
She  set  no  greater  store  on  herself 
than  she  had  done  at  the  Charter- 
house, and  paid  hor  husband  as  much 
respect  and  timid  obedience  as  she  had 
ever  done  her  mistress.  Verily,  in  his 
presence  I  soon  perceived  she  scarce 
held  her  soul  to  be  her  own  ;  but 
studied  his  looks  with  so  much  dili- 
gence, and  framed  each  word  she  ut- 
tered to  his  liking  with  so  much  i.ijj- 


Constance  Sherwood, 


135 


nulty,  that  I  marvelled  at  the  wit  she 
showed  therein,  which  was  not  very 
apparent  in  other  ways.  He  was  a 
tall  man,  of  haughty  carnage  and 
well-proportioned  features.  His  eyes 
were  large  and  gray  ;  his  nose  of  a 
hawkish  shape;  his  lips  very  thin. 
I  never  in  any  face  did  notice  the 
signs  of  so  set  a  purpose  or  such  un- 
yielding lineaments  as  in  this  gentle- 
man. Milicent  told  me  he  was  pious, 
liberal,  an  active  magistrate,  and  an 
exceeding  obhging  and  indulgent  hus- 
band; but  methought  her  testimony 
on  this  score  carried  no  great  weight 
with  it,  for  that  her  meekness  would 
read  the  most  ordinary  kindnesses  as 
rare  instances  of  goodness.  She  seem- 
ed very  contented  with  her  lot;  and 
I  heard  from  Lady  Surrey's  waiting- 
maid  (which  she  had  sent  with  me 
from  Kenninghall)  that  all  the  ser- 
vants in  her  house  esteemed  her  to  be 
ti  most  virtuous  and  patient  lady  ; 
and  so  charitable,  that  all  who  knew 
her  experienced  her  bounty.  On  the 
next  day  she  showed  me  her  garden, 
her  dairy,  poultry-yard,  and  store- 
room ;  and  also  the  closet  where  she 
kept  the  salves  and  ointments  for  the 
dressing  of  wounds,  which  she  said  she 
was  every  moniing  employed  in  for  sev- 
eral hours.  I  said,  if  she  would  per- 
mit me,  I  would  try  to  learn  this  art 
under  her  direction,  for  that  nothing 
could  be  thought  of  more  useful  for 
su-3h  as  lived  in  the  countiy,  where 
su;h  assistance  was  often  needed. 
Then  she  asked  me  if  I  was  like  to 
li>e  in  the  country,  which,  from  my 
words,  she  hoped  should  be  the  case  ; 
and  I  told  her,  if  it  pleased  God,  in 
one  year  I  would  be  married  to  Mr. 
llookwood,  of  Euston  Hall ;  which 
she  was  greatly  rejoiced  to  learn. 

Then,  as  we  walked  under  the 
trees,  talk  ensued  between  us  touch- 
ing former  days  at  the  Charter-house ; 
and  when  the  sun  was  setting  amidst 
gold  and  purple  clouds,  and  the  wind 
blew  freshly  from  the  sea,  whilst  the 
bai'king  of  Sir  Hammond's  dogs,  and 
the  report  of  his  gun  as  he  discharged 
it  behind  the  house,  minded  me  more 


than  ever  of  old  country  scenes  in 
past  time,  my  thoughts  drew  also  fu- 
ture pictures  of  what  mine  own  home 
should  be,  and  the  joy  with  which  I 
should  meet  Basil,  when  he  returned 
from  the  field-sports  in  which  he  did  so 
much  delight.  And  a  year  seemed  a 
long  time  to  wait  for  so  much  happi- 
ness as  I  foresaw  should  be  ours  when 
we  were  once  married.  "  If  Lady  I'Es- 
trange  is  so  contented,"  I  thought, 
"  whose  husband  is  somewhat  churlish 
and  stern,  if  his  countenance  and  the 
reports  of  his  neighbors  are  to  be 
credited,  how  much  enjoyment  in  her 
home  shall  be  the  portion  of  my  dear 
Basil's  wife !  than  which  a  more  sweet- 
tempered  gentleman  cannot  be  seen, 
nor  one  endued  with  more  admirable 
qualities  of  all  sorts,  not  to  speak  of 
youth  and  beauty,  which  are  perish- 
able advantages,  but  not  without  at- 
tractiveness." 

Mrs.  I'Estrange,  an  unmarried  sis- 
ter of  Sir  Hammond,  lived  in  the 
house,  and  some  neighbors  which 
had  been  shooting  wdth  him  came  to 
supper.  The  table  was  set  with  an 
abundance  of  good  cheer;  and  Mili- 
cent sat  at  the  head  of  it,  and  used  a 
sweet  cordiality  toward  all  her 
guests,  so  that  every  one  should 
seem  welcome  to  her  hospitality  ;  but 
I  detected  looks  of  apprehension  in 
her  face,  coupled  with  hasty  glances 
toward  her  husband,  if  any  one  did 
bring  forward  subjects  of  discourse 
which  Sir  Hammond  had  not  first 
broached,  or  did  appear  in  any  way 
to  differ  with  liim  in  what  he  him- 
self advanced.  Once  when  Lord 
Burleigh  was  mentioned,  one  of  the 
gentleman  said  somewhat  in  dis- 
paragement of  this  nobleman,  as  if 
he  should  have  been  to  blame  in 
some  of  liis  dealings  with  the  parlia- 
ment, which  brought  a  dark  cloud 
on  Sir  Hammond's  brow.  Upon 
which  Milicent,  the  color  coming  in- 
to her  cheeks,  and  her  voice  tremblhig 
a  little,  as  she  seemed  to  cast  about 
her  for  some  subject  which  should 
turn  the  current  of  this  talk,  began  to 
tell  what  a  store  of  patients  slie  had 


136 


Constance  Shcncood. 


seen  that  day,  and  to  describe 
them,  as  if  seeking  to  stop  the 
mouths  of  the  disputants.  "  One," 
quoth  she,  "  hath  been  three  times 
to  me  tliis  week  to  have  his  hands 
dressed,  and  I  be  verily  in  doubt 
Avhat  his  station  should  be.  Ho 
hath  a  notable  appearance  of  good- 
breeding,  albeit  but  poorly  ap- 
parelled, and  his  behavior  and  dis- 
course should  show  him  to  be  a 
gentleman.  The  wounds  of  his 
hands  Avere  so  grievously  galled 
for  want  of  proper  dressing,  when 
lie  iirst  came,  I  feared  they  should 
mortify,  and  the  curing  of  them  to 
exceed  my  poor  skill.  The  skin 
was  rubbed  off  the  whole  palms,  as 
if  scraped  off  by  handling  of  ropes. 
A  more  courageous  patient  could 
not  be  met  with.  Methought  the 
dressing  should  have  been  very 
painful,  but  he  never  so  much  as 
once  did  wince  under  it.  He  is 
somewhat  reserved  in  giving  an 
account  of  the  manner  in  which  lie 
came  by  those  wounds,  and  an- 
swered jestingly  when  I  inquired 
thereof.  But  to-morrow  I  will 
hear  more  on  it,  for  I  charged  him 
to  come  for  one  more  dressing  of 
his  poor  hands." 

"  Where  doth  this  fellow  lodge  ?" 
Sir  Hammond  asked  across  the 
table  in  a  quick,  eager  manner. 

"  At  Master  Rugeley's  house,  I 
have  heard,"  quoth  his  wife. 

Then  his  fist  fell  on  the  table  so 
that  it  shook. 

"  A  lewd  recusant,  by  God !" 
he  cried.  *'ril  be  sworn  this 
is  the  popish  priest  escaped  out 
of  Wisbeach,  for  whom  I  have 
this  day  received  orders  to  make 
diligent  search.  Ah,  ah  !  my 
lauy  hath  trapped  the  Jesuit 
fox." 


I  looked  at  Milicent,  and  she  at 
me.  O  my  God,  what  looks  those 
Avcrc  ! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TnEN  methought  was  Avitnesiv. d 
(I  speak  of  the  time  when  Sir 
Hammond  FEstrange  made  the 
savage  speech  which  caused  hi^ 
lady  and  me  to  exchange  affright- 
ed looks)  a  rare  instance  of  the 
true  womanly  courage  which  doth 
sometimes  lie  at  the  core  of  a 
timid  heart.  The  meek  wife, 
which  dared  not  so  much  as  to 
lift  up  her  eyes  to  her  lord  if  he 
did  only  frown,  or  to  oppose  his 
will  in  any  trilling  matter  ;  whose 
color  I  had  seen  fly  from  her  cheek 
if  he  raised  his  voice,  albeit  not  in 
anj]jer  a2;ainst  herself,  now  in 
the  presence  of  those  at  table, 
with  a  face  as  pale  as  ashes,  but 
a  steady  voice,  and  eyes  fixed 
on  him,  thus  addressed  her  lius- 
band : 

"  Sir,  since  we  married  I  have 
never  opposed  your  will,  or  in 
anything  I  wot  of  oftended  you,  or 
ever  would  if  I  could  help  it. 
Do  not,  therefore,  displeasure  me 
so  much,  I  beseech  you,  in  this 
grave  instance,  as  to  make  me  an 
instrument  in  the  capture.  And 
God  knoweth  what  should  follow 
of  one  which  came  to  me  for 
help,  and  to  whom  the  service  I 
rendered  him  would  prove  the 
means  of  his  ruin  if  you  persist 
thereim." 

"  Go  to,  madam,  go  to,"  cried 
Sir  Hammond ;  "  your  business 
doth  lie  with  poor  people,  mine 
with    criminals.      Go    your    way. 


Constance  Sherwood. 


13/ 


and  intrude  not  yourself  in  weighti- 
er   matters    than   belong   to    your 


sex. 


"  Sir,"  slie  answers,  braving  liis 
frowning  looks,  albeit  her  limbs 
began  to  tremble,  "  I  humbly 
crave  your  patience ;  but  I  will 
not  leave  you,  neither  desist  from 
my  suit,  exce^jt  thereunto  com- 
pelled by  force.  I  would  to  God 
my  tongue  had  been  plucked  out 
rather  than  that  it  should  utter 
words  which  should  betray  to 
prison,  yea,  perhaps  to  death,  the 
poor  man  whose  wounds  I  tend- 
ed." 

The  cloud  on  Sir  Hammond's 
brow  waxed  darker  as  she  spoke. 
He  glanced  at  me,  and  methinks 
perceived  my  countenance  to  be  as 
much  disturbed  as  his  lady's.  A 
sudden  thought,  I  ween,  then  pass- 
ed through  his  mind ;  and  with  a 
terrible  oath  he  swore  that  he  mis- 
liked  this  strenuous  urging  in 
favor  of  a  vile-  popish  priest,  and 
yet  more  the  manner  of  this  inter- 
cession. 

"  Heaven  shield,  madam,"  he 
cried,  "  you  have  not  companied 
with  recusants  so  as  to  become  in- 
fected with  a  lack  of  zeal  for  the 
Protestant  religion !" 

The  color  returned  for  a  moment 
to  Lady  I'Estrange's  cheeks  as  she 
answered  : 

"  Sir,  I  have  never,  from  the 
time  my  mother  did  teach  me  my 
prayers,  been  of  any  other  way  of 
thinking  than  that  wherein  she 
then  instructed  me,  or  so  much  as 
allowed  myself  one  thought  con- 
trary to  true  Protestant  religion  ; 
or  ever  lent  an  ear,  and  with  God's 
help  never  will,  to  what  papists  do 
advance ;  but  nevertheless,  if  this 
priest   do   fall   into   any    grievous 


trouble  through  my  speeches,  I 
shall  be  a  most  unhappy  woman  all 
my  life." 

And  then  the  poor  soul,  rising 
from  her  seat,  went  round  to  her 
husband's  side,  and,  kneeling, 
sought  to  take  his  hands,  beseecli- 
ing  him  in  such  moving  and  pite- 
ous terms  to  change  his  purposes 
as  I  could  see  did  visibly  affect 
some  present.  But  I  also  noticed 
in  Sir  Hammond's  face  so  re- 
solved an  intent  as  if  nothing  in 
earth  or  heaven  should  alter  it. 
A  drowning  wretch  would  a:', 
soon  have  moved  a  rock  to  ad- 
vance toward  him  as  she  suc- 
ceeded in  swerving  his  will  by  her 
entreaties. 

A  sudden  thought  inspired  me 
to  approach  her  where  she  liad 
sunk  down  on  her  knees  at  her 
husband's  feet,  he  seeking  angrily 
to  push  her  away.  I  took  her  by 
the  hand,  and  said  : 

"I  pray  you,  dear  lady,  come 
with  me.  These  be  indeed  mat- 
ters wherein,  as  Sir  Hammond 
salth,  women's  words  do  not 
avail." 

Both  looked  at  me  surprised ; 
and  she,  loosing  her  hold  of  him, 
suffered  me  to  lead  her  away.  We 
went  into  the  parlor,  Mrs.  I'Es- 
trange  following  us.  But  as  I  did 
try  to  whisper  in  her  ear  that  I 
desired  to  speak  with  her  alone, 
the  bell  in  the  dining-room  began 
to  ring  violently  ;  upon  which  she 
shuddered  and  cried  out ; 

"  Let  me  go  back  to  him.  Mis- 
tress Sherwood.  I'll  warrant  you 
he  is  about  to  send  for  the  con- 
stables ;  but  beshrew  me  if  I  die 
not  first  at  his  feet ;  for,  if  this 
man  should  be  hung,  peace  will  be 
a  stranger  to  me  all  my  life." 


'3« 


Constance  Sherwood. 


Mistress  I'Estrange  essayed  to 
comfort  her;  but  failing  therein, 
said  she  was  very  foolish  to  be  so 
discompo'sed  at  what  was  no  fault 
of  hers,  and  she  should  think  no 
more  thereon,  for  in  her  condition 
to  fret  should  be  dangerous  ^  and 
if  people  would  be  priests  and 
papists,  none  could  help  if  they 
should  suffer  for  it.  And  then  she 
left  the  parlor  somewhat  ruffled, 
like  good  people  sometimes  feel 
when  they  perceive  their  words 
have  no  effect.  When  we  were 
alone,  "  Lady  I'Estrange,"  I  said, 
"  where  is  Master  liugeley's 
house  ?" 

"  One  mile,  or  thereabouts,  across 
the  heath,"  she  answered. 

"  And  the  way  to  it  direct  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  Yea,  by  the  footpath,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  but  much  longer  by  the 
high-road." 

T  went  to  the  window,  and 
opened  the  shutter  and  the  lattice 
also.  The  moon  was  shining  very 
brightly. 

"  Is  it  that  cottage  near  to  the 
wood  ?"  I  inquired,  pointing  to  a 
thatched  roof  nigh  unto  the  dark- 
some line  of  trees  against  the 
sky. 

"  Yea,"  she  answered  ;  "  how 
near  it  doth  seem  in  this  light ! 
Constance,  what  think  you  to 
do  ?"  she  exclaimed,  when  I  went 
to  her  cupboard,  and  took  out 
the  keys  she  had  showed  me 
that  morning  opened  the  doors 
of  the  kitchen  garden  and  the 
orchard. 

"Did  you  not  say,"  I  answered, 
*'  that  the  gentleman  now  in  so 
great  peril  did  lodge  with  Master 
Ilugeley  ?" 

"  Would   you   go    there  ?"     she 


said,  looking  aghast.  "Not  alone; 
you  durst  not  do  it !" 

"Twenty  times  over,"  I  an- 
swered, "  for  to  save  a  man's  life, 
and  he — he  a — "  But  there  I 
stopped ;  for  it  was  her  fellow- 
creature  she  desired  to  save.  Her 
heart  bled  not  like  mine  for  the 
flock  which  should  be  left  without 
a  shepherd ;  and  albeit  our  "  fears 
were  the  same,  we  felt  not  alike.  1 
went  into  the  hall,  and  she  pur- 
sued me — one-half  striving  to  stay 
me  from  my  purpose,  one-half 
urging  me  to  fulfil  it ;  yet  re- 
tracting her  words  as  soon  as 
uttered. 

"  When  I  issue  from  the  door  of 
the  orchard  unto  the  heath,"  I  said, 
the  while  wrapping  round  me  a 
cloak  with  a  hood  to  it,  "  and  pur- 
sue the  path  in  front,  by  what 
token  may  I  find  Master  Rugeley's 
house  if  the  moon  should  be  ob- 
scured ?" 

"Where  two  roads  do-  meet," 
she  said,  at  the  edge  of  the  heath, 
a  tall  oak  doth  stand  near  to  a 
gate ;  a  few  steps  to  the  right 
should  then  lead  to  it.  But  verily, 
Mistress  Constance,  I  be  frighten- 
ed to  let  you  go  ;  and  oh,  I  do  fear 
my  husband's  anger." 

"  Would  you,  then,  have  a  man 
die  by  your  means  ? "  I  asked, 
thinking  for  to  cure  one  terror  by 
another,  as  indeed  it  did  ;  for  she 
cried : 

"  Nay,  I  will  speed  you  on  your 
way,  good  Constance ;  and  show 
so  brave  a  face  during  your  ab- 
sence as  God  shall  help  me  to  do ; 
yea,  and  open  the  door  for  you  my- 
self, if  my  husband  should  kill  me 
for  it !" 

Then  she  took  the  keys  in  her  hand 
and  glided  like  unto  a  pale  ghost  be- 


Constance  Sherwood, 


139 


fore  me  through  the  passage  into  the 
hall,  so  noiselessly  that  I  should  have 
doubted  if  aught  of  flesh  and  blood 
could  have  moved  so  lightly,  and  un- 
did the  bars  of  the  back  door  without 
i»o  much  as  a  sound.  Then  she  would 
ietch  some  thick  shoes  for  me  to  wear, 
which  I  did  entreat  her  not  to  stay  me 
for ;  but  nothing  else  would  content 
the  poor  soul,  and,  as  she  had  the 
keys  in  her  hand,  I  was  forced  to  wait 
her  return  with  so  much  impatience  as 
may  be  guessed.  I  heard  the  voices 
of  the  gentlemen  still  carousing  after 
supper;  and  then  a  servant's  below 
in  the  hall,  who  said  the  constables 
liad  been  sent  for,  and  a  warrant  issued 
for  the  apprehension  of  a  bl&.ck  papist 
at  Master  Rugeley's.  Then  Milicent 
returned,  and  whilst  I  put  on  the  shoes 
she  had  brought,  and  she  was  tying 
with  trembling  fingers  the  hood  of  my 
cloak,  the  rusthng  of  Mrs.  I'Estrange's 
silk  gown  was  heard  on  the  stair 
above  our  heads,  from  whence  we 
were  like  to  be  seen ;  and,  fear  awak- 
ening contrivance,  I  said  aloud, 

"  Oh,  what  a  rare  pastime  it  should 
be  to  dress  as  a  ghost,  and  frighten 
the  good  lady  your  sister-in-law !  I 
pray  you  get  me  some  white  powder 
to  pale  my  face.  Melshinks  we  need 
some  kind  of  sport  to  drive  away  too 
nmch  thinking  on  that  dismal  business 
in  hand." 

The  steps  over  our  head  sounded 
more  hurried,  and  we  heard  the  door 
of  the  parlor  close  with  a  bang,  and 
the  lattice  also  violently  shut. 

*'  Now,"  I  whispered,  "  give  me  the 
keys,  good  Lady  I'Estrange,  and  go 
to  your  sister  yourself.  Say  I  was 
ashamed  to  have  been  overheard  to 
plan  so  rank  a  piece  of  folly  (and  ver- 
ily you  will  be  speaking  no  other  than 
the  truth),  and  that  you  expect  I  shall 
not  so  much  as  show  my  face  in  the 
parlor  this  evening  ;  and  lock  also  my 
chamber-door,  that  none  may  for  a 
surety  know  me  for  to  be  absent." 

"  Yea,"  answered  the  poor  lady, 
with  so  deep  a  sigh  as  seemed  to  rend 
her  heart  ;  "  but,  God  forgive  me,  I 
never  did  think  to  hide  anything  from 


my  husband  !     And  who  shall  tell  me 
if  I  be  doing  right  or  wrong  ?" 

I  could  not  stay,  though  I  grieved 
for  her;  and  the  sound  of  her  voice 
haunted  me  as  I  went  through  the  gar- 
den, and  then  the  orchard,  unto  the 
common,  locking  the  doors  behind  me. 
"When  tliis  was  done,  I  did  breathe 
somewhat  more  freely,  and  began  to 
run  along  the  straight  path  amidst  the 
heath.  I  wot  not  if  my  speed  was 
great — the  time  seemed  long ;  yet  me- 
thinks  I  did  not  slacken  my  pace  once, 
but  rather  increased  it,  till,  perceiving 
the  oak,  and  near  it  the  gate  Lady 
I'Estrange  had  mentioned,  I  stopped 
to  consider  where  to  turn ;  and  after  I 
had  walked  a  little  to  the  right  I  saw 
a  cottage  and  a  light  gleaming  inside. 
Then  my  heart  beat  very  fast ;  and 
when  I  knocked  at  the  door  I  felt 
scarce  able  to  stand.  I  did  so  three 
times,  and  no  answer  came.  Then  I 
cried  as  loudly  as  I  could,  "Master 
Rugeley,  I  beseech  you  open  the  door." 
I  heard  some  one  stirring  within,  but 
no  one  came.  Then  I  again  cried  out, 
"Oh,  for  our  Blessed  Lady's  sake, 
some  one  come."  At  last  the  lattice 
opened,  and  a  man's  head  appeared. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"A  friend,"  I  answered,  in  a  whis- 
per ;  "  a  Catholic.  Are  you  Master 
Rugeley?" 

"Yea,"  he  answered. 
"  Oh,  then,  if  Mr.  Tunstall  is  here, 
hide  him  quickly,  or  send  him  away. 
I  am  a  friend  of  Lady  I'Estrange's  and 
staying  in  her  house.  Sir  Hammond 
hath  received  tidings  that  a  priest 
is  in  this  neighborhood,  and  a  warrant 
is  issued  for  to  apprehend  him.  His 
lady  unwittingly,  and  sorely  troubled 
she  is  thereat,  showed  by  her  speeches 
touching  your  guest,  that  he  is  like  to 
be  Mr.  Tunstall;  and  the  constables 
will  soon  be  here." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  replied  whom 
I  was  addressing ;  "  but  Mr.  Tunstall 
is  not  the  name  of  my  friend." 

Then  I  feared  he  did  take  me  for  a 
spy,  and  I  cried  out,  greatly  moved, 
"As  I  do  hope  to  go  to  heaven  one 


I40 


Co.iztzincc  Sherwood. 


day,  and  not  to  liell,  Master  Rugeley, 
I  speak  the  truth,  and  my  warning 
is  an  urgent  one." 

Then  I  heard  some  one  within  the 
Iiouse,  who  said,  "  Open  the  door,  Mas- 
ter Rugeley.  I  should  know  that 
voice.      Let  the  speaker  in." 

Methought  I,  too,  knew  the  voice  of 
the  person  who  thus  spoke.  The 
door  was  opened,  and  I  entered  a 
room  dimly  lighted  by  one  candle. 

«  Oh,  for  God's  sake,"  I  cried,  "  if 
a  priest  is  here,  liide  him  forthwith." 

"  Are  you  a  Catholic,  my  child  ?" 

I  looked  up  to  the  person  who  put 
this  question  to  me,  and  gave  a  sudden 
cry,  I  know  not  whether  of  terror  or 
joy  ;  for  great  as  was  the  change  which 
the  lapse  of  years,  and  great  inward 
and  outward  changes,  had  wrought  in 
his  aspect,  I  saw  it  was  my  father. 

"  I  am  Constance,"  I  cried  ;  "  Con- 
stance Sherwood !  Oh,  my  dear  fa- 
ther !"  and  then  fell  at  his  feet  weeping. 

After  an  instant's  astonishment  and 
fixed  gazing  on  my  face,  he  recognized 
me,  who  was,  I  doubt  not,  more  changed 
than  himself,  and  received  me  with  a 
great  paternal  kindness  and  the  tender- 
est  greeting  imaginable,  yet  tempered 
with  reserve  and  so  much  of  restraint 
as  should  befit  one  who,  for  Christ's 
sake,  had  dissevered  himself  from  the 
joys,  albeit  not  from  the  affections,  of 
the  natural  heart. 

"  Oh,  my  good  child,  my  own  dear 
Constance,"  he  said;  "hath  God  in 
his  bounty  given  thy  poor  father  a 
miraculous  sight  of  thee  before  his 
death,  or  art  thou  come  verily  in  flesh 
and  blood  to  warn  him  of  his  danger  ?" 

"My  dear  and  honored  father,"  I 
replied,  "  time  presses  ;  peril  is  indeed 
at  hand,  if  you  and  Mr.  Tunstall  are 
the  same  person." 

"  The  wounds  in  my  hands,"  he  an- 
swered, "  must  prove  me  such,  albeit 
now  healed  by  the  care  of  that  good 
Samaritan,  Lady  TEstrange.  But  pri- 
thee, my  good  child,  whence  comest 
thouP' 

"  Alas !"  I  said ;  "  and  yet  not  alas, 
if  God  should  be  so  good  to  me  as  by 
my  means  to  save  you,  I  am  Sir  Ham- 


mond's guest,  being  a  friend  of  his 
lady's.     I  came  there  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  my  good  child,  I  thought  not 
to  have  seen  thee  in  these  thy  grown- 
up years.  Master  Rugeley,"  he  added, 
turning  to  his  host,  "  this  is  the  little 
girl  I  forsook  four  years  ago,  for  to 
obtain  the  hundredfold  our  Lord  doth 
promise." 

"  My  very  dear  father,"  I  said,  "joy 
is  swallowed  up  in  fear.  God  help 
me,  I  came  to  wani  a  stranger  (if  so 
be  any  priest  in  these  times  should  be 
a  stranger  to  a  Catholic),  and  I  find 
you." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  mightfully  pleased," 
quoth  he,  "  to  see  thee,  my  child,  even 
in  this  Avise,  and  to  hear  thee  speak 
like  a  true  daughter  of  Holy  Church. 
And  Lady  I'Estrange  is  then  thy 
friend?" 

"Yea,  my  dear  father;  but  for 
God  and  our  lady's  sake  hide  your- 
self. I  warrant  you  the  constables 
may  soon  be  here.  Master  Rugeley, 
where  can  he  be  concealed,  or  whither 
fly,  and  I  with  him  ?" 

"  Nay,  prithee  not  so  fast,"  quoth 
he.  "  Flight  would  be  useless ;  and  in 
the  matter  of  hiding,  one  should  be 
more  easily  concealed  than  two ;  be- 
side that,  the  hollow  of  a  tree,  which 
Master  Rugeley  will,  I  ween,  appoint 
me  for  a  bed-chamber  to-night,  should 
hardly  lodge  us  both  with  comfort." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Rugeley,  "  do  not 
tarry." 

"  For  thy  sake,  no ;  not  for  more 
than  one  minute,  Thomas ;  but  ere  I 
part  from  this  wench,  two  questions  I 
must  needs  ask  her." 

Then  he  drew  me  aside,  and  in- 
quired what  facilities  I  continued  to 
have  in  London  for  the  exercise  of 
Catholic  religion,  and  if  I  was  punc- 
tual in  the  discharge  of  my  spiritual 
duties.  When  I  had  satisfied  him 
thereon,  he  asked  if  the  report  was 
true  which  he  heard  from  a  pris- 
oner for  recusancy  in  "Wisbeach  Cas- 
tle, concerning  my  troth-phght  with 
Mr.  Rookwood. 

"  Yea,"  I  said,  "  it  is  true,  if  so  be 
you  now  do  add  your  consent  to  it." 


Constance  Sherwood. 


141 


He  answered  he  should  do  so  with 
all  his  heart,  for  he  knew  him  to  bo  a 
good  Catholic  and  a  virtuous  gentle- 
man ;  and  as  we  might  lack  the  op- 
portunity to  receive  his  blessing  later, 
he  should  now  give  it  unto  me  for 
both  his  most  dear  children.  Which  he 
did,  laying  his  hand  on  my  head  with 
many  fervent  benisons,  couched  in 
such  words  as  these,  that  he  prayed 
for  us  to  be  stayed  up  with  the  shore 
of  God's  grace  in  this  world;  and 
after  this  transitory  life  should  end, 
tQ  ascend  to  him,  and  appear  pure 
and  unspotted  before  his  glorious  seat. 
Then  he  asked  me  if  it  was  Lady 
^Estrange  who  had  detected  him ; 
whereupon  I  briefly  related  to  him 
what  had  occurred,  and  how  sore  her 
grief  was  therein. 

"  God  bless  her,"  he  answered ; 
"  and  tell  her  I  do  thank  her  and  pray 
for  her  with  all  mine  heart." 

And  more  he  would  have  added, 
but  Master  Rugeley  opened  the  door 
impatiently.  So,  after  kissing  once 
more  my  father's  hand,  I  went  away, 
compelled  thereunto  by  fears  for  his 
safety,  if  he  should  not  at  once  con- 
^;eal  himself. 

Looking  back,  I  saw  him  and  his 
guide  disappear  in  the  thicket,  and 
then,  as  I  walked  on  toward  Lynn 
Court,  it  did  almost  seem  to  me  as  if 
the  whole  of  that  brief  but  pregnant 
interview  should  have  been  a  dream  ; 
nor  could  I  verily  persuade  myself 
that  it  was  not  a  half  habitant  of  an- 
other world  I  had  seen  and  spoken 
with  rather  than  mine  own  father; 
and  in  first  thinking  on  it  I  scarcely 
did  fully  apprehend  the  danger  he 
was  in,  so  as  to  feel  as  much  pain  as 
i  did  later,  w^hen  the  joy  and  astonish- 
ment of  that  unexpected  meeting  had 
given  way  to  terrifying  thoughts. 
Ever  and  anon  I  turned  round  to  gaze 
on  the  dark  wood  wherein  his  hopes  of 
safety  did  lie,  and  once  I  knelt  down 
on  the  roadside  to  pray  that  the  night 
should  be  also  dark  and  shield  his  es- 
cape. But  still  the  sense  of  fear  w^as 
dulled,  and  w^oke  not  until  the  sound 
of  horses'  feet  on  the  road  struck  on 


my  car,  and  I  saw  a  party  of  men 
riding  across  the  common.  The  light 
in  the  cottage  was  extinguished,  but 
the  cruel  moon  shone  out  then  more 
brightly  than  heretofore.  Now  I  felt  so 
sick  and  faint  that  I  feared  to  sink 
down  on  the  path,  and  hurried  through 
the  orchard-door  and  the  garden  to 
the  house.  "When  I  had  unlocked 
the  back  door  and  stood  in  the  hall 
where  a  lately  kindled  fire  made  a 
ruddy  light  to  glow,  I  tried  again  to 
think  I  had  been  dreaming,  like  one 
in  a  nightmare  strives  to  shake  ofiT  an 
oppressive  fancy.  I  could  not  remain 
alone,  and  composed  my  countenance 
for  to  enter  the  parlor,  when  the  door 
thereof  opened  and  Mrs.  i'Estrange 
came  out,  who,  when  she  perceived  me 
standing  before  her,  gave  a  start,  but 
recovering  herself,  said,  good-natur- 
edly : 

*'  Marry,  if  this  be  not  the  ghost  we 
have  been  looking  for  ;  now  ashamed, 
I  ween,  to  show  itself.  J.  hope,  Mis- 
tress Sherwood,  you  do  not  Launt 
quiet  folks  in  their  beds  at  night ;  for 
I  do,  I  warn  you,  mislike  living  ghosts, 
and  should  be  disposed  to  throw  a  jug 
cf  water  at  the  head  of  such  a  one." 
And  laughing,  she  took  my  liand  in  a 
kind  manner,  wliich  when  she  did, 
almost  a  cry  broke  from  her :  "  How 
now,  Milicent !  she  is  as  cold  as  a 
stone  figure.  Where  has  she  been 
chilling  herself  ?" 

Milicent  pressed  forward  and  led 
me  to  my  chamber,  wherein  a  fire  had 
been  lighted,  and  would  make  me 
drink  a  hot  posset.  But  when  I 
thought  of  the  cold  hoUow  of  a  tree 
wherein  my  father  was  enclosed,  if  it 
pleased  God  no  worse  mishap  had  be- 
fallen him,  little  of  it  could  I  force 
myself  to  swalloSv,  for  now  tears  had 
come  to  my  relief,  and  concealing  my 
face  in  the  pillow  of  the  bed  wdiereon 
for  weariness  I  had  stretched  myself, 
I  wept  very  bitterly. 

''  Is  that  poor  man  gone  from  Ruge- 
ley's  house  ?"  Milicent  whispered. 

Alas  !  she  knew  not  who  that  poor 
man  was  to  me,  nor  with  what  an- 
guish I  answered :  "  He  is  not  in  the 


142 


Constance  Sherwood. 


cottage,  I  hope ;  but  God  only  knoweth 
if  his  pursuers  shall  not  discover  him." 
The  thought  of  what  would  then  fol- 
low overciime  me,  and  I  hid  my  face 
with  mine  hands. 

"Oh,  Constance,"  she  exclaimed, 
"was  this  poor  man  known  to  thee, 
that  thy  grief  is  so  great,  whose  con- 
science doth  not  reproach  thee  as 
mine  doeth?" 

I  held  out  my  hand  to  her  without 
unshading  my  face  with  the  other,  and 
said  :  "  Dear  Milicent !  thou  shouldst 
not  sorrow  so  much  for  thine  own  part 
in  this  sore  trial.  It  was  not  thy  fault. 
He  said  so.  He  blest  thee,  and  prays 
for  thee." 

Uncomforted  by  my  words,  she 
cried  again,  what  she  had  so  often 
exclaimed  that  night,  "  If  this 
man  should  die,  my  happiness  is 
over." 

Then  once  more  she  asked  me  if  I 
know  this  priest,  and  I  was  fro  ward 
with  her  (God  forgive  me,  for  the  sus- 
pense and  fear  overthrew  better  feel- 
ings for  a  moment),  and  I  cried,  an- 
grily, "Who  saitii  he  is  a  priest? 
Who  can  prove  it  ?" 

"  Think  you  so  ?"  she  said  joyfully ; 
"  then  all  should  be  right." 

And  once  more,  with  some  mis- 
doubting, I  ween,  that  I  concealed 
somewhat  from  her,  she  inquired 
touching  my  knowledge  of  this  stran- 
ger. Then  I  spoke  harshly,  and  bade 
her  leave  me,  for  I  had  sorrow  enough 
without  her  intermeddling  with  it; 
but  then  grieving  for  her,  and  also 
afraid  to  be  left  alone,  I  denied  my 
words,  and  prayed  her  to  stay,  which 
she  did,  but  did  not  speak  much  again. 
The  silence  of  the  night  seemed  so 
deep  as  if  the  rusthng  of  a  leaf  could 
be  noticed ;  only  now  and  then  the 
voices  of  the  gentlemen  below,  and 
some  loud  talking  and  laugliter  from 
some  of  them  was  discernible  through 
the  closed  doors.  Once  Lady  I'Es- 
trange  said :  "  They  be  sitting  up  very 
late ;  I  suppose  till  the  constables  re- 
turn.    Oil,  when  will  that  be  ?" 

The  great  clock  in  the  hall  then 
struck  twelve ;  and  soou  after,  starling 


up,  I  cried,  "  What    should   be   that 
noise  ?" 

"  I  do  hear  nothing,"  she  answered, 
trembling  as  a  leaf. 

"  Hush,"  I  replied,  and  going  to  the 
window,  opened  the  lattice.  Tiie 
sound  in  the  road  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house  was  now  plain.  On  that 
we  looked  on  naught  was  to  be  seen 
save  trees  and  grass,  with  the  ghastly 
moonlight  shining  on  them.  A  loud 
opening  and  shutting  of  doors  and 
much  stir  now  took  place  within  the 
house,  and,  moved  by  the  same  im- 
pulse, we  both  went  out  into  the  pas- 
sage and  half  way  down  the  stairs. 
Milicent  was  first.  Suddenly  she 
turned  round,  and  falling  down  on  her 
knees,  with  a  stifled  exclamation,  she 
hid  her  face  against  me,  whispering : 
"  He  is  taken !" 

We  seemed  both  turned  to  stone. 
O  ye  which  have  gone  through  a  like 
trial,  judge  ye;  and  you  who  have 
never  been  in  such  straits,  imagine 
what  a  daughter  should  feel  who,  after 
long  years'  absence,  beholdeth  a  be- 
loved father  for  one  instant,  and  in 
the  next,  under  the  same  roof  where 
she  is  a  guest,  sees  him  brought  in  a 
prisoner  and  in  jeopardy  of  his  life. 
Every  word  which  was  uttered  we 
could  hear  where  we  sat  crouching, 
fearful  to  advance — she  not  daring  to 
look  on  the  man  she  had  ruined,  and  I 
on  the  countenance  of  a  dear  parent, 
lest  the  sight  of  me  should  distract 
him  from  his  defence,  if  that  could  be 
called  such  which  he  was  called  on  to 
make.  They  asked  him  touching  his 
name,  if  it  was  Tunstall.  He  an- 
swered he  was  known  by  that  name. 
Then  followed  the  murtherous  ques- 
tion, if  he  was  a  Romish  priest  ?  To 
Avhich  he  at  once  assented.  Then 
said  Sir  Hammond 

"  How  did  you  presume,  sir,  to  re- 
turn into  England  contrary  to  the 
laws  ?' 

"  Sir,"  he  answered,  "  as  I  was  law- 
fully ordained  a  priest  by  a  Catholic 
bishop,  by  authority  derived  from  the 
see  of  Rome"  (one  person  here  ex- 
claimed, "Oh,  audacious   papist!  his 


ConsU 


Sherwood. 


H3 


I 


tongne  should  be  cut  out ;"  but  Sir 
IhuinnoiKi  imposed  silence),  "  so  like- 
Wise,"  he  coiitinue<l,  "am  I  lawfully 
8611 1  to  preach  the  word  of  God,  and 
to  administer  the  sacraments  to  my 
Catholic  countrymen.  As  the  mission 
of  priests  lawfully  ordained  is  from 
Christ,  who  did  send  his  apostles  even 
as  his  Father  sent  him,  I  do  humbly 
conceive  no  human  laws  can  justly 
hinder  my  return  to  England,  or  make 
it  criminal ;  for  this  should  be  to  pre- 
fer the  ordinances  of  man  to  the  com- 
mands of  the  supreme  legislator,  which 
is  Christ  himseli'." 

Loud  murmurs  were  here  raised  by 
some  present,  which  Sir  Hammond 
again  silencing,  he  then  inquired  if  he 
would  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to 
the  queen  ?  He  answered  (my  strain- 
ing ears  taking  note  of  every  word  he 
uttered)  that  he  would  gladly  pay 
most  willing  obedience  to  her  majesty 
in  all  civil  matters  ;  but  the  oath  of 
allegiance,  as  it  was  worded,  he  could 
not  take,  or  hold  her  majesty  to  pos- 
sess any  supremacy  in  spiritual  mat- 
ters. He  was  beginning  to  state  the 
reasons  thereof,  but  was  not  suffered  to 
proceed,  for  Sir  Hammond,  interrupt- 
ing him,  said  he  was  an  escaped  prison- 
er, and  by  his  own  confession  condemn- 
ed, so  he  should  straightway  commit 
him  to  the  gaol  in  Norwich.  Then  I 
lost  my  senses  almost,  and  seizing  Lady 
TEstrange's  arm,  I  cried,  "  Save  him ! 
he  is  mine  own  father,  Mr.  Sherwood  !'* 
She  uttered  a  sort  of  cry,  and  said, 
"  Oh,  I  have  feared  this,  since  I  saw 
his  face  !"  and  running  forward,  I  fol- 
lowing her,  affrighted  at  what  should 
happen,  she  called  out,  "  It  shall  not 
be  !  Pic  shall  not  do  it!"  and  with,  a 
face  as  v/hite  as  any  smock,  runs  to 
her  husband,  and  perceiving  the  con- 
stables to  be  putting  chains  on  my 
father's  hands  and  feet,  which  I  like- 
wise beheld  with  what  feelings  -you 
who  read  this  may  think,  she  falls  on 
lier  knees  and  gasps  out  these  words 
in  such  a  mournful  tone,  that  I  shud- 
dered to  hear  her,  "Oh,  sh'!  if  this 
man  leaves  this  house  a  chained  pris- 
oner, I  £hall  never  be  the  like  of  my- 


self again.  There  shall  be  no  morc^ 
joy  for  me  in  hfe."  And  then  faint,-? 
right  away,  and  Sir  Hammond  car- 
ries her  in  his  anus  out  of  the  hail. 
Mine  eyes  the  while  met  my  father's  ; 
who  smiled  on  me  with  kind  cheec. 
but  signed  for  me  to  keep  away.  I 
stretched  my  arms  toward  him,  and 
with  his  chained  hand  he  contrived 
yet  once  more  for  to  bless  me ;  then 
was  hurried  out  of  my  sight.  Far 
more  time  than  I  ever  did  perceive  or 
could  remember  the  length  of  I  re- 
mained in  that  now  deserted  hall,  mo- 
tionless, alone,  near  to  the  dying  em- 
bers, the  darkness  still  increasing,  too 
much  confused  to  recall  at  once  the 
comforts  which  sacred  thoughts  do 
yield  in  such  mishaps,  only  able  to 
clasp  my  hand  and  utter  broken  sen- 
tences of  prayer,  such  as  "  God,  ha' 
mercy  on  us,"  and  the  like ;  till  about 
the  middle  of  the  night.  Sir  Ham- 
mond comes  down  the  stairs,  with  a 
lamp  in  liis  hand,  and  a  strange  look 
in  his  face. 

"Mistress  Shenvood,"  he  says, 
"  come  to  my  lady.  She  is  very  ill,  and 
hath  been  in  labor  for  some  time.  Slie 
doth  nothing  but  call  for  you,  and  rav<3 
about  that  accursed  priest  she  will 
have  it  she  hath  murthered.  Come 
and  feign  to  her  he  hath  escaped." 

"  O  God  I"  I  cried,  "  my  words  may 
fall  on  her  car.  Sir  Hammond,  but  my 
face  cannot  deceive  her." 

He  looked  at  me  amazed  and  angry. 
"What  meaneth  this  passion  of  grief? 
What  is  this  old  man  to  you,  that  his 
misfortune  should  thus  disorder  you  ?'* 
And  as  I  could  not  stay  my  weeping, 
he  asked  in  a  scornful  manner,  "  Do 
papists  so  dote  on  their  priests  as  to 
die  of  sorrow  when  they  get  theu- 
deserts  ?"  This  insulting  speech  did 
so  goad  rac,  that,  unable  to  restrain 
myself,  I  exclaimed,  "  Sir  Hammond, 
he  whom  you  liave  sent  to  a  dungeon, 
and  perhaps  to  death  also  (God  par- 
don you  for  it  I),  is  my  ti-uc  father ! — 
the  best  parent  and  the  noblest  gentle- 
man that  ever  breathed,  which  for 
many  years  I  had  not  seen  ;  and  here 
under  your  roof,  myself  your  guest,  I 


44 


Constance  Sherwood. 


have  beheld  him  loaded  with  chains, 
and  dared  not  to  speak  for  fear  to  in- 
jure him  yet  further,  which  I  pray 
God  I  have  not  now  done,  moved 
thereunto  by  your  cruel  scoffs." 

"  Your  father  I"  he  said  amazed ; 
•^  Mr.  Sherwood  !  These  cursed  feign- 
ihgs  do  work  strange  mishaps.  But 
he  did  own  himself  a  priest." 

Before  I  had  time  to  answer,  a  serv- 
ing woman  ran  into  the  hall,  crying 
out,  "  Oh,  sir,  I  pray  you  come  to  my 
lady.  She  is  much  worse ;  and  the 
nurse  says,  if  her  mind  is  not  eased  she 
is,  like  to  die  before  the  child  is  bom." 

"Oh,  Miliccnt!  sweet  Milicent!"  I 
cried,  wringing  my  hands  ;  and  when 
I  looked  at  that  unhappy  husband's 
face,  anger  vanished  and  pity  took  its 
place.  He  turned  to  me  with  an  im- 
ploring countenance  as  if  he  should 
wish  to  say,  "  None  but  you  can  saVe 
her."  I  prayed  to  Our  Lady,  who 
stood  and  fainted  not  beneath  the 
Rood,  to  get  me  strength  for  to  do  my 
part  in  that  sick  chamber  whither  I 
signed  to  him  to  lead  the  way.  "  God 
will  help  me,"  I  whispered  in  his  ear, 
''  to  comfort  her." 

"  God  bless  you !"  he  answered  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  and  opened  the  door  of 
the  room  in  which  his  sweet  lady  was 
sitting  in  her  bed,  with  a  wild  look  in 
her  pale  blue  eyes,  which  seemed  to 
start  out  of  her  head. 

"  Sir,"  I  heard  her  say,  as  he  ap- 
proached, "  what  hath  befallen  the 
j)Oor  man  you  would  not  dismiss  ?" 

I  took  a  light  in  my  hand,  so  that 
she  should  see  my  face,  and  smiled  on 
her  with  such  good  cheer,  as  God  in 
his  mercy  gave  me  strength  to  do 
c,ven  amidst  the  two-fold  anguish  of 
that  moment.  Then  she  threw  her 
arms  convulsively  round  my  neck,  and 
her  pale  lips  gasped  the  same  question 
as  before.  I  bent  over  her,  and  said, 
"'Trouble  yourself  no  longer,  dear 
lady,  touching  this  prisoner.  He  is 
safe  (in  God's  keeping,  I  added,  inter- 
iially).  He  is  where  he  is  carefully 
tended  (by  God's  angels,  I  mentally 
subjoined)  ;  he  hath  no  occasion  to  be 
afraid  (for  God  is  his  strength),  and  I 


warrant  you  is  as  peaceful  as  his  near- 
est friends  should  wish  him  to  be." 

"  Is  this  the  truth  ?"  she  murmured 
in  my  ear. 

"  Yea,"  I  said,  "  the  trutli,  the  very 
truth,"  and  kissed  her  flushed  cheek. 
Then  feeling  like  to  faint,  I  went  away, 
Sir  Hammond  leading  me  to  my  cham- 
ber, for  I  could  scarce  stand. 

'"  God  bless  you !"  he  again  said, 
when  he  left  me,  and  I  think  he  was 
weeping. 

I  fell  into  a  heavy,  albeit  troubled, 
sleep,  and  when  I  awoke  it  was  broad 
daylight.  When  the  waiting-maid  came 
in,  she  told  me  Lady  I'Estrange  had 
been  delivered  of  a  dead  child,  and  Sir 
Hammond  was  almost  beside  himself 
with  grief.  My  lady's  mind  had  wan- 
dered ever  since ;  but  she  was  more 
tranquil  than  in  the  night.  Soon  after 
he  sent  to  ask  if  he  could  see  me,  and 
I  went  down  to  him  into  the  parlor. 
A  more  changed  man,  in  a  few  hours, 
I  ween,  could  not  be  seen,  than  this 
poor  gentleman.  Ho  spoke  not  of  his 
lady ;  but  briefly  told  me  he  had  sent 
in  the  night  a  messenger  on  horseback 
to  Norwich,  with  a  letter  to.  the  gov- 
ernor of  the  gaol,  praying  him  to  show 
as  much  consideration,  and  allow  so 
much  liberty  as  should  consist  with 
prudence,  to  the  prisoner  in  his  cus- 
tody, sent  by  him  a  few  hours  before, 
for  that  he  liad  discovered  him  not  to 
be  one  of  the  common  sort,  nor  a  lewd 
person,  albeit  by  his  own  confession 
amenable  to  the  laws,  and  escaped 
from  another  prison.  Then  he  added, 
that  if  I  wished  to  go  to  Norwich,  and 
visit  this  prisoner,  he  would  give  me  a 
letter  to  the  governor,  and  one  to  a 
lad}--,  who  would  conveniently  harbor 
me  for  a  while  in  that  city,  and  his 
coach  should  take  mo  there,  or  he 
would  lend  me  a  horse  and  a  servant 
to  attend  me.  I  answered,  I  should 
be  glad  to  go,  and  then  said  somewhat 
of  his  lady,  hoping  she  should  now  do 
well.  He  made  no  reply  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  only  said, 

"  God  knoweth  !  she  is  not  like  her- 
self at  the  present." 

The  words  she  had  so  mournfully 


i 


Constance  Slierwood. 


145 


spoken  the  clay  befbrc  came  into  my 
mind,  "  I  shall  never  be  like  myself 
again,  and  there  shall  be  no  more  joy 
in  this  house."  And.  methinks,  they 
did  haunt  him  also. 

I  sat  for  some  time  by  her  bedside 
tliat  day.  She  seemed  not  ill  at  ease, 
but  there  was  something  changed  in 
lier  aspect,  and  her  words  when  she 
spoke  had  no  sense  or  connection. 
And  here  I  will  set  down,  before  I  re- 
late the  events  v.^hich  followed  my 
brief  sojourn  under  their  roof,  what  I 
have  heard  touching  the  sequel  of  Sir 
Hammond  and  his  wife's  lives. 

In  that  perilous  and  sorely  troubled 
childbirth  her  understanding  was  alien- 
ated, and  the  art  of  the  best  physicians 
in  England  could  never  restore  it. 
She  was  not  frantic ;  but  had  such  a 
j)rctty  deliration,  that  in  her  ravings 
there  was  oftentimes  more  attractive- 
ness than  in  many  sane  persons'  con- 
v(U'sation.  They  mostly  ran  on  pious 
themes,  and  she  was  wont  to  sing 
psalms,  and  talk  of  heaven,  and  that 
she  hoped  to  see  God  there;  and 
in  many  things  she  showed  her  old 
ability,  such  as  fine  embroidery  and 
tlie  making  of  preserves.  One  day 
her  waiting- woman  asked  her  to  dress 
a  i)erson's  wounds,  which  did  greatly 
need  it,  and  she  set  herself  to  do  it  in 
lier  accustomed  manner ;  but  at  the 
sight  of  the  wounds,  she  was  seized 
with  convulsions,  and  became  violent- 
ly delirious,  so  that  Sir  Hammond 
sharply  reprehended  the  imprudent 
attendant,  and  forbade  the  hke  to  be 
ever  proposed  to  her  again.  He  gave 
himself  up  to  live  retired  with  her, 
and  ceased  to  be  a  magistrate,  nor  ever, 
that  I  could  hear  of,  took  any  part 
again  in  the  persecution  of  Catholics. 
The  distemper  which  had  estranged 
her  mind  in  all  things  else,  had  left 
her  love  and  obedience  entire  to  her 
husband  ;  and  he  entertained  a  more 
visible  fondness,  and  evinced  a  greater 
respect  for  her  after  she  was  dlstem- 
}>ered,  than  he  had  ever  done  in  the 
early  days  of  their  marriage.  Me- 
thinks, the  gentleness  of  her  heart,  and 
delicacy  of  her  conscience,  which  till 


thdt  misfortune  had  never,  I  ween, 
been  burdened  by  any,  even  the  least, 
self-reproach,  and  the  lack  of  strength 
in  her  mind  to  endure  an  unusual  stress, 
ma-lc  the  stroke  of  that  accidental 
harm  done  to  another  through  her 
means  too  heavy  for  her  sufferance, 
and,  as  the  poet  saith,  unsettled  rea- 
son on  her  throne.  For  mine  own 
part,  but  let  others  consider  of  it  as 
they  list,  I  think  that  had  she  been  a 
Catholic  by  early  training  and  dis- 
tinct belief,  as  verily  I  hope  she  was 
in  rightful  intention,  albeit  unconsci- 
ously to  herself  (as  I  make  no  doubt 
many  are  in  these  days,  wherein  per- 
sons are  growing  up  with  no  know- 
ledge of  religion  except  what  Protest- 
ant parents  do  instill  into  them),  that 
she  would  have  had  a  greater  courage 
for  to  bear  this  singular  trial ;  which 
to  a  feeling  natural  heart  did  prove 
unbearable,  but  which  to  one  accus- 
tomed to  look  on  suffering  as  not  the 
greatest  of  evils,  and  to  hold  such  as 
are  borne  for  conscience  sake  as  great 
and  glorious,  would  not  have  been 
so  overwhelming.  But  herein  I  write, 
methinks,  mine  own  condemnation, 
for  that  in  the  anguish  of  fihal  grief  I 
failed  to  point  out  to  her  during  those 
cruel  moments  of  suspense  that  which 
in  retrospection  I  do  so  clearly  see. 
And  so,  may  God  accept  the  blighting 
of  her  young  life,  and  the  many  suffer- 
ings of  mine  which  I  have  still  to  re- 
cord, as  pawns  of  his  intended  mercies 
to  both  her  and  to  me  in  his  everlast- 
ing kingdom ! 

When  I  was  about  to  set  out  for 
Norwich,  late  in  the  afternoon  of  that 
same  day.  Sir  Hammond's  messenger 
returned  from  thence  with  a  letter 
from  the  governor  of  the  gaol ;  where- 
in he  wrote  that  the  prisoner  he  had 
sent  the  night  before  was  to  proceed 
to  London  in  a  few  hours  with  some 
other  priests  and  recusants  v.'hich  the 
government  had  ordered  to  be  con- 
veyed thither  and  committed  to  divers 
prisons.  He  added,  that  he  had  com- 
plied with  Sir  Hammond's  request, 
and  shown  so  much  favor  to  Mr.  Tun- 
skill  as  to  transfer  him,  as  soon  as  he 


146 


Constance  Sherwood, 


received  his  letter,  from  tlie  common 
dungeon  to  a  private  cell,  and  to  al- 
low him  to  speak  Avith  another  Catho- 
lic prisoner  who  had  desired  to  see 
him.  Upon  this  I  prayed  Sir  Ham- 
mond to  forward  me  on  my  journey  to 
London,  as  now  I  desired  nothing  so 
much  as  to  go  there  forthwith  ;  which 
he  did  with  no  small  alacrity  and  good 
disposition.  Then,  with  so  much  speed 
as  was  possible,  and  so  much  suffering 
from  the  lapse  of  each  hour  that  it 
seemed  to  me  the  journey  should  never 

■  end,  I  proceeded  to  what  was  now  the 

■  object  of  my  most  impatient  pinings, — 
the  place  where  I  should  hear  tidings 
of  my  father,  and,  if  it  should  be  possi- 
ble, minister  assistance  to  him  in  his 
great  straits.  At  last  I  reached  Hol- 
born ;  and,  to  the  no  small  amazement 
of  my  uncle,  Mrs.  Ward,  and  Muriel, 
revealed  to  them  who  Mr.  Tunstall 
was,  whose  arrival  at  the  prison  of 
Bridewell  Mrs.  Ward  had  had  notice 
of  that  morning,  when  she  had  been 
to  visit  Mr.  Watson,  which  she  had 
contrived  to  do  for  some  time  past  in 
the  manner  I  will  soon  relate. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

One  of  the  first  persons  I  saw  in 
London  was  Hubert  Rookwood,  who, 
when  he  heard  (for  being  Basil's 
brother  I  would  not  conceal  it  from 
him)  that  my  father  was  in  prison  at 
Bridewell,  expressed  so  much  concern 
therein  and  resentment  of  my  grief, 
that  I  was  thereby  moved  to  more 
kindly  feelings  toward  him  than  I  had 
of  late  entertained.  He  said  that  in 
the  houses  of  the  law  which  he  fre- 
quented he  had  made  friends  which  he 
hoped  would  intercede  in  his  behalf, 
and  thereby  obtain,  if  not  his  release, 
yet  so  much  alleviation  of  the  hard- 
ships of  a  common  prison  as  should 
render  his  condition  more  tolerable, 
and  that  he  would  lose  no  time  in 
seeking  to  move  them  thereunto  ;  but 
that  our  chief  hope  v/ould  lie  in  Sir 
Francis     Walsingliam,     who,    albeit 


much  opposed  to  pupists,  had  always 
showed  himself  willing  to  assist  his 
friends  of  that  way  of  thinking,  and 
often  procured  for  them  some  relief, 
which  indeed  none  had  more  ex- 
perienced than  Mr,  Congleton  himself. 
Hubert  commended  the  secrecy  which 
had  been  observed  touching  my  fa- 
ther's real  name ;  for  if  he  should  be 
publicly  known  to  be  possessed  of 
lands  and  related  to  noble  famihes,  it 
should  be  harder  for  any  one  to  get 
him  released  than  an  obscure  person  ; 
but  nevertheless  he  craved  license  to 
intimate  so  much  of  the  truth  to  Sir 
Francis  as  should  appear  convenient, 
for  he  had  always  observed  that  gen- 
tlemen are  more  compassionate  to 
those  of  their  own  rank  than  to  others 
of  meaner  birth.  Mr.  Congleton 
prayed  him  to  use  his  own  discretion 
therein,  and  said  he  should  acquaint 
no  oae  himself  of  it  except  his  very 
good  friend  the  Portuguese  ambassa- 
dor, who,  if  all  other  resources  failed, 
might  yet  obtain  of  the  queen  herself 
some  mitigation  of  his  sentence. 
Thereupon  followed  some  days  of 
weary  watcliing  and  waitings  in  which 
my  only  comfort  was  Mistress  Ward, 
who,  by  means  of  the  gaoler's  wife, 
who  had  obliged  her  in  the  like  man- 
ner before,  did  get  access  from  time  to 
time  to  Mr.  Watson,  and  brought  him 
necessaries.  From  him  she  discover- 
ed that  the  prisoner  in  the  nearest  cell 
to  his  own  was  the  so-called  Mr.  Tun- 
stall, and  that  by  knocks  against  the 
wall,  ingeniously  numbered  so  as  to 
express  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  as 
one  for  a,  two  for  h,  and  so  to  the  end 
thereof,  they  did  communicate.  So 
she  straightway  began  to  practice  this 
management ;  but  time  allowed  not  of 
many  speeches  to  pass  between  them. 
Yet  in  this  way  he  sent  me  his  bless- 
ing, and  that  ho  was  of  very  good 
cheer ;  but  that  none  should  try  for  t(; 
visit  him,  for  he  had  only  one  fear, 
which  was  to  bring  others  into  trouble  : 
and,  for  himself,  he  was  much  behold- 
en to  her  majesty,  which  had  provided 
him  with  a  quiet  lodging  and  time  to 
look  to  his  Soul's  welfiire  ;   whidi  ev:- 


Constance  Sherwood, 


147 


dcnce  of  his  cheerful  and  pious  spirit 
comforted  me  not  a  little.  Then  that 
dear  friend  which  had  brought  mc  this 
good  comfort  spoke  of  Mr.  Watson, 
and  said  she  desired  to  procure  his  es- 
cape from  prison  more  than  that  of 
any  other  person  in  the  same  plight, 
not  excepting  my  father.  "  For,  good 
Constance,"  quoth  she,  "  when  a  man 
is  blest  with  a  stout  heart  and  cheerful 
mind,  except  it  be  for  the  sake  of 
others,  I  pray  you  what  kind  of  ser- 
vice ^o  you  think  we  render  him  by 
delaying  the  victory  he  is  about  to 
gain,  and  peradventure  depriving  him 
of  the  long-desired  crown  of  martyr- 
dom? But  this  good  Mr.  Watson, 
who  as  you  well  know  was  a  zealous 
priest  and  pious  missioner,  neverthe- 
less, some  time  after  his  apprehension 
and  confinement  in  Bridewell,  by  force 
of  torments  and  other  miseries  of  that 
place,  was  prevailed  upon  to  deny  his 
faith  so  far  as  to  go  once  to  the  Prot- 
estant service — not  dragged  there  by 
force  as  some  have  been,  but  compel- 
led thereunto  by  fear  of  intolerable  suf- 
ferings, and  was  then  set  at  liberty. 
But  the  poor  man  did  not  thus  better 
his  condition ;  for  the  torments  of  his 
mind,  looking  on  himself  as  an  apos- 
tate and  traitor  to  the  Church,  he  found 
to  be  more  insupportable  than  any 
sufferings  his  gaolers  put  upon  him. 
So,  after  some  miserable  weeks,  he 
went  to  one  of  the  prisons  where  some 
other  priests  were  confined  for  to  seek 
comfort  and  counsel  from  them ;  and, 
having  confessed  his  fault  with  great 
and  sincere  sorrow,  he  received  abso- 
lution, and  straightway  repaired  to 
that  church  in  Bridewell  wherein  he 
had  in  a  manner  denied  his  faith,  and 
before  all  the  people  at  that  time 
therein  assembled,  declared  himself  a 
CathoJic,  and  willing  to  go  to  prison 
and  to  death  sooner  than  to  join  again 
in  Protestant  worship.  Whereupon 
he  was  laid  hold  of,  dragged  to  prison, 
and  thrown  into  a  dungeon  so  low  and 
so  straight  that  he  could  neither  stand 
up  in  it  nor  lay  himself  down  at  his 
full  length  to  sleep.  They  loaded 
him   witli   irons,   and   kept  him  one 


whole  month  on  bread  and  water; 
nor  would  suffer  any  one  to  come  near 
liira  to  comfort  or  speak  with  him." 

"  Alas !"  I  cried,  "  and  is  this,  then, 
the  place  where  my  father  is  con- 
fined?" 

"  No,"  she  answered ;  "  after  the 
space  of  a  month  Mr.  Watson  Ava< 
translated  to  a  lodging  at  the  top  of 
the  house,  wherein  the  prisoners  are 
leastways  able  to  stretch  their  Hmbs 
and  to  see  the  light;  but  he  having 
been  before  prevailed  on  to  yield 
against  his  conscience  touching  that 
point  of  going  to  Protestant  worship, 
no  peace  is  left  to  him  by  his  persecu- 
tors, which  never  cease  io  urge  on  him 
some  sort  of  conformity  to  their  reli- 
gion. And,  Constance,  when  a  man 
hath  once  been  weak,  what  security 
can  there  be,  albeit  I  deny  not  hope, 
that  he  shall  always  after  stand  firm  ?" 

"But  by  what  means,"  I  eagerly 
asked,  "  do  you  forecast  to  procure  his 
escape  ?" 

"  I  have  permission,"  she  answered, 
"  to  bring  him  necessaries,  which  I  do 
in  a  basket,  on  condition  that  I  be 
searched  at  going  in  and  coming  out, 
for  to  make  sure  I  convey  not  any  let- 
ter unto  him  or  from  him ;  and  this 
was  so  strictly  observed  the  first 
month  that  they  must  needs  break 
open  the  loaves  or  pies  I  take  to  him 
lest  any  paper  should  be  conveyed  in- 
side. But  they  begin  now  to  weary  of 
this  strict  search,  and  do  not  care  al- 
ways to  hearken  when  I  speak  with 
him  ;  so  he  could  tell  me  the  last  time 
I  did  visit  him  that  he  had  found  a 
Avay  by  which  if  he  had  but  a  cord 
long  enough  for  his  purpose,  he  could 
let  himself  down  from  the  top  of  the 
house,  and  so  make  his  escape  in  the 
night," 

"Oh,"  I  cried,  "dear  Mistress 
Ward,  but  this  is  a  perilous  venture, 
to  aid  a  prisoner's  escape.  One 
which  a  daughter  might  run  for  her 
father,  oh,  how  willingly,  but  for  a 
stranger — " 

"  A  stranger !"  she  answered.  "  Is 
he  a  stranger  for  whom  Christ  died, 
and  whose  precious  soul  is  in  danger, 


148 


Constance  Sherwood. 


even  if  riot  a  priest ;  and  being  so,  is 
he  not  entitled  to  more  than  common 
reverence,  chiefly  in  these  days  when 
God's  servants  minister  to  us  in  the 
midst  of  such  great  straits  to  both  soul 
and  body  ?" 

"  I  cry  God  mercy,'*  I  said ;  "  I  did 
term  him  a  stranger  who  gave  ghostly 
comfort  to  my  dear  mother  on  her 
death-bed ;  but  oh,  dear  Mistress 
Ward,  I  thought  on  your  peril,  who, 
he  knoweth,  hath  been  as  a  mother 
to  me  for  these  many  years.  And 
then — ^if  you  are  resolved  to  run  this 
danger,  should  it  not  be  possible  to 
save  my  father  also  by  the  same 
means  ?  Two  cords  should  not  be 
more  difficult  to  convey,  me  thinks, 
than  one,  and  the  peril  not  greater." 

"If  I  could  speak  with  him,"  she 
replied,  "  it  would  not  be  impossible. 
I  will  tell  Muriel  to  make  two  instead 
of  one  of  these  cords,  w^hich  she  doth 
twine  in  some  way  she  learnt  from  a 
Frenchman,  so  strong  as,  albeit  slight, 
to  have  the  strength  of  a  cable.  But 
without  we  do  procure  two  men  with 
a  boat  for  to  fetch  the  prisoners  when 
they  descend,  'tis  little  use  to  make 
the  attempt.  And  it  be  easier,  I  war- 
rant thee,  Constance,  to  run  one's  self 
into  a  manifest  danger  than  to  entice 
others  to  the  like." 

"  Should  it  be  safe,"  I  asked,  "  to 
speak  thereon  to  Hubert  Rookwood? 
He  did  exhibit  this  morning  much 
zeal  in  my  father's  behalf,  and  promis- 
ed to  move  Sir  Francis  Walsingham 
to  procure  his  release." 

"  How  is  he  disposed  touching  reli- 
gion ?"  she  asked,  in  a  doubtful  man- 
ner. 

"  Alas  !"  I  answered,  "  there  is  a 
secrecy  in  his  nature  which  in  more 
ways  than  one  doth  prove  unvestiga- 
ble,  leastways  to  me ;  but  when  he 
comes  this  evening  I  will  sound  him 
thereon.  AVould  his  brother  were  in 
London  !  Then  wc  should  not  lack 
counsel  and  aid  in  this  matter." 

"  We  do  sorely  need  both,"  she  Jin- 
swered ;  "  for  your  good  uncle,  than 
which  a  better  man  never  lived,  wanes 
feeble  in  body,  and  hence  easily  over- 


come by  the  fears  such  enterprises  in- 
volve. Mr.  Wells  is  not  in  London 
at  this  time,  or  he  should  have  been  a 
very  palladium  of  strength  in  this  ne- 
cessity. Hubert  Rookwood  hath,  I 
think,  a  good  head." 

"  What  we  do  want  is  a  bravo 
heart,"  I  replied,  thinking  on  Basil. 

"  But  wits  also,"  she  said. 

"  Basil  hath  them  too,"  I  answered, 
forgetting  that  only  in  mine  own 
thinking  had  he  been  named. 

"  Yea,"  she  cried,  "  who  doth  doubt 
it  ?  but,  alas  !  he  is  not  here." 

Then  I  prayed  her  not  to  be  too 
rash  in  the  prosecution  of  her  design. 
"Touching  my  father,"  I  said,  "I  have 
yet  some  hope  of  his  release  ;  and  as 
long  as  any  remaineth,  flight  should 
be  methinks  a  too  desperate  attempt 
to  be  thought  of." 

"  Yea,"  she  answered,  "  in  most 
cases  it  would  be  so."  But  Mr.  Wat- 
son's disposition  she  perceived  to  be 
such  as  would  meet  a  present  danger 
and  death  itself,  she  thought,  with 
courage,  but  not  of  that  stamp  which 
could  endure  prolonged  fears  or  inflic- 
tion of  torments. 

Since  my  coming  to  London  I  had 
been  too  much  engaged  in  these 
weighty  cares  to  go  abroad ;  but  on 
that  day  I  resolved,  if  it  were  possible, 
to  see  my  Lady  Surrey.  A  report 
had  reached  me  that  the  breach  be- 
tween her  and  her  husband  had  so 
much  deepened  that  a  separation  had 
ensued,  which  if  true,  I,  which  knew 
her  as  well  almost  as  mine  own  self, 
could  judge  what  her  grief  must  be.  I 
was  also  Moved  to  this  endeavor  by 
the  hope  that  if  my  Lord  Arundel  was 
not  too  sick  to  be  spoken  with,  she 
should  perhaps  obtain  some  help 
through  his  means  for  that  dear  pris- 
oner whose  captivity  did  weigh  so 
heavily  on  my  heart. 

So,  with  a  servant  to  attend  on  me, 
I  went  through  the  city  to  the  Char- 
ter-house, and  with  a  misgiving  mind 
heard  from  the  porter  that  Lady  Sur- 
rey lodged  not  there,  but  at  Arun- 
del House,  whither  she  had  removed 
soon  after  her  coming  to  London.  Me- 


Constance  Shericood. 


149 


thought  that  in  the  telling  of  it  this 
man  exhibited  a  sorrowful  counte- 
nance; but  not  choosing  to  question 
one  of  his  sort  on  so  weighty  a  mat- 
ter, I  went  on  to  Arundel  House, 
where,  after  some  delaj,  I  succeeded 
in  gaining  admittance  to  Lady  Sur- 
rey's chamber,  whose  manner,  when 
she  first  saw  me,  lacked  the  warmth 
which  I  was  used  to  in  her  greetings. 
There  seemed  some  fear  in  her  lest  I 
should  speak  unadvisedly  that  which 
she  would  be  loth  to  hear ;  and  her 
strangeness  and  reserve  methinks 
arose  from  reluctance  to  have  the 
wound  in  her  heart  probed, — too  sore 
a  one,  I  ween,  even  for  the  tender 
handling  of  a  friend.  I  inquired  of 
her  if  my  Lord  Arundel's  health 
had  improved.  She  said  he  was 
better,  and  like  soon  to  be  as  well  as 
could  be  hoped  for  now-a-days,  when 
his  infirmities  had  much  increased. 

"  Then  you  will  return  to  Kenning- 
hall  ?"  I  said,  letting  my  speech  out- 
run discretion. 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  "  I  purpose 
never  more  to  leave  my  Lord  Arundel 
or  my  Lady  Lumley  as  long  as  they 
do  live,  w^iich  I  pray  God  may  be 
many  years." 

And  then  she  sat  without  speaking, 
biting  her  lips  and  wringing  the  ker- 
chief she  held  in  her  hands,  as  if  to 
keep  her  grief  from  outbursting.  I 
dared  not  to  comment  on  her  resolve, 
for  I  foresaw  that  the  least  w^ord  which 
should  express  some  partaking  of  her 
sorrow,  or  any  question  relating  to  it, 
would  let  loose  a  torrent  weakly  stayed 
by  a  mightful  effort,  not  like  to  be  of 
long  avail.  So  I  spoke  of  mine  own 
troubles,  and  liiie  events  which  had  oc- 
casioned my  sudden  departure  from 
Lynn  Court.  She  had  heard  of  Lady 
I'Estrange's  mishap,  and  that  the  follow- 
ing day  I  had  journeyed  to  London ;  but 
naught  of  the  causes  thereof,  or  of  the 
apprehension  of  any  priest  by  Sir 
Hammond's  orders.  Which,  when 
she  learnt  the  manner  of  this  misfor- 
tune, and  the  poor  lady's  share  therehi, 
and  that  it  was  my  father  she  had 
thus  unwittingly  discovered,-  her  coun- 


tenance softened,  and  throwing  her 
arms  round  my  neck,  she  bitterly  wept, 
which  at  that  moment  methinks  did 
her  more  good  than  anything  else. 

*^0h,  mine  own  good  Constance," 
she  said,  "I  doubt  not  nature  raiseth 
many  passionate  workings  in  your 
soul  at  this  time  ;  but,  my  dear  wench, 
when  good  men  are  in  trouble  our 
grief  for  them  should  be  as  noble  as 
their  virtues.  Bethink  thee  what  a 
worst  sorrow  it  should  be  to  have  a 
vile  father,  one  that  thou  must  needs 
love, — for  w^ho  can  tear  out  of  his 
heart  affection  strong  as  life? — ^and  ha 
should  then  prove  unworthy.  Be- 
lieve me,  Constance,  God  gives  to 
each,  even  in  this  world,  a  portion  of 
their  deserts.  Such  griefs  as  thy  pres- 
ent one  I  take  to  be  rare  instances  of 
his  favor.  Other  sorts  of  trials  are 
meet  for  cowardly  souls  which  refuse 
to  set  their  Hps  to  a  chalice  of  suffer- 
ing, and  presently  find  themselves  sub- 
merged in  a  sea  of  woes.  But  can  I 
help  thee,  sweet  one  ?  Is  there  aught 
I  can  do  to  lighten  thy  affliction.'^ 
Hast  thou  license  for  to  see  thy 
father?"    . 

"  No,  dear  lady,"  I  answered  ;  "  and 
his  name  being  concealed,  I  may  not 
petition  as  his  daughter  for  this  per- 
mission ;  but  if  my  Lord  Arundel 
should  be  so  good  a  lord  to  me  as  to 
obtain  leave  lor  me  to  visit  this  pris- 
oner, without  revealing  his  name  and 
condition,  he  should  do  me  the  great- 
est benefit  in  the  world." 

"  I  will  move  him  thereunto,"  my 
lady  said.  "  But  he  who  had  formerly 
no  equal  in  the  queen's  favor,  and  to 
whom  she  doth  partly  owe  her  crown, 
is  now  in  his  sickness  and  old  age  of 
so  little  account  in  her  eyes,  that  tri- 
fling favors  are  often  denied  him  to 
whom  she  would  once  have  said  : 
'  Ask  of  me  Avhat  thou  wilt,  and  I  will 
give  it  unto  thee.'  But  w^hat  my  poor 
endeavors  can  effect  through  him  or 
others  shall  not  be  lacking  in  this  thy 
need.  But  I  am  not  in  that  condition 
I  was  once  like  to  have  enjoyed.'' 
Then  with  her  eyes  cast  on  the  ground 
she  seemed  for  to  doubt  if  she  should 


I50 


Constance  Sherwood. 


speak  plainly,  or  still  slmt  up  her 
grief  in  silence.  As  I  sat  painfully 
expecting  her  next  words,  the  door 
opened,  and  two  ladies  were  announc- 
ed, which  she  whispered  in  mine  ear 
she  would  fain  not  have  admitted  at 
that  time,  but  that  Lord  Arundel's  de- 
sh'e  did  oblige  her  to  entertain  them. 
One  was  Mistress  Bellamy,  and  the 
other  her  daughter,  Mistress  Frances, 
a  young  gentlewoman  of  great  beauty 
and  very  lively  parts,  which  I  had 
once  before  seen  at  Lady  Ingoldsby's 
house.  She  was  her  parents'  sole 
daughter,  and  so  idoHzed  by  them  that 
they  seemed  to  live  only  to  minister  to 
her  fancies.  Lord  Arundel  was  much 
bounden  to  this  family  by  ancient  ties  of 
friendship,  which  made  him  urgent 
with  his  granddaughter  that  she  should 
admit  them  to  her  privacy.  I  admir- 
ed in  this  instance  how  suddenly  those 
which  have  been  used  to  exercise  such 
self-command  as  high  breeding  doth 
teach  can  school  their  exterior  to  seem 
at  ease,  and  even  of  good  cheer,  when 
most  ill  at  ease  interiorly,  and  with 
hearts  very  heavy.  Lady  Surrey 
greeted  these  visitors  with  as  much 
courtesy,  and  listened  to  their  dis- 
course with  as  much  civility  and 
smiles  when  called  for,  as  if  no  bur- 
thensome  thoughts  did  then  oppress 
her. 

Many  and  various  themes  were 
touched  upon  in  the  random  talk 
which  ensued.  First,  that  wonted  one 
of  the  queen's  marriage,  which  some 
opined  should  verily  now  take  place 
with  Monsieur  d'Alengon  ;  for  that 
since  his  stealthy  visits  to  England, 
she  did  wear  in  her  bosom  a  brooch 
of  jewels  in  a  frog's  shape. 

"Ay,"  quoth  Mistress  Frances, 
"  that  stolen  visit  which  awoke  the  ire 
of  the  poor  soul  Stubbs,  who  styled 
it  *  an  unmanlike,  unprincelike,  French 
kind  of  wooing,'  and  endeth  his  book 
of '  Tlie  Gaping  Gulph '  in  a  loyal  rage : 
•  Here  is,  therefore,  an  imp  of  the 
crown  of  France,  to  marry  the  crown- 
ed nymph  of  England,' — a  nymph  in- 
deed well  stricken  in  years.  My 
brother  was  standing  by  when  Stubbs' 


hand  was  cut  off;  for  nothing  else 
would  content  that  sweet  royal  nymph, 
albeit  the  lawyers  stoutly  contended 
the  statute  under  which  he  suffered  to 
be  null  and  void.  As  soon  as  his 
right  hand  is  off,  the  man  takes  his 
hat  off  with  the  left,  and  cries  *  God 
bless  the  queen  !'  " 

"  Here  is  a  wonder,"  I  exclaimed ; 
"  I  pray  you,  what  is  the  art  this  queen 
doth  possess  by  which  she  holdeth  the 
hearts  of  her  subjects  in  so  great 
thrall,  albeit  so  cruel  to  them  which  do 
offend  her  ?" 

"  Lady  Harrington  hath  told  me  her 
majesty's  own  opinion  thereon,"  said 
Mrs.  Bellamy;  "for  one  day  she  did 
ask  her  in  a  merry  sort, '  How  she  kept 
her  husband's  good-will  and  love  ?'  To 
which  she  made  reply  that  she  per- 
suaded her  husband  of  her  affection, 
and  in  so  doing  did  command  his. 
Upon  which  the  queen  cries  out,  'Go 
to,  go  to.  Mistress  Moll!  you  are 
wisely  bent,  I  find.  After  such  sort 
do  I  keep  the  good  wills  of  all  my 
husbands,  my  good  people ;  for  if  they 
did  not  rest  assured  of  some  special 
love  toward  them,  they  would  not 
readily  yield  me  such  good  obedi- 
ence.' " 

"Tut, tut!"  cried  Mistress  Frances  ; 
"  all  be  not  such  fools  as  John  Stubbs ; 
and  she  knoweth  how  to  take  rc*bukes 
from  such  as  she  doth  not  dare  to 
offend.  By  the  same  token  that  Sir 
Philip  Sydney  hath  written  to  dissuade 
her  from  this  French  match,  and  like- 
wise Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  which 
last  did  hint  at  her  advancing  years  ; 
and  her  highness  never  so  much  as 
thought  of  striking  off  their  hands. 
But  1  warrant  you  a  rebellion  shall 
arise  if  this  queen  doth  issue  such 
prohibitions  as  she  hath  lately  done." 

"  Of  what  sort  ?"  asked  Lady  Sur- 
rey. 

"First,  to  forbid,"  Mrs.  Bellamy 
said,  "any  new  building  to  be  raised 
within  three  thousand  paces  of  the 
gates  of  London  on  pain  of  imprison- 
ment, and  sundiy  other  penalties ;  or 
for  more  than  one  family  to  inhabit  in 
one  house.     For  her  majesty  holda  it 


Constance  Sherwood. 


151 


should  be  an  impossible  thing  to  gov- 
ern or  maintain  order  in  a  city  larger 
than  this  London  at  the  present  time." 

Mistress  Frances  declared  this  law 
to  be  more  tolerable  than  the  one 
against  the  size  of  ladies'  ruffs,  which 
were  forsooth  not  to  exceed  a  certain 
measure ;  and  officers  appointed  for  to 
stand  at  the  corners  of  streets  and  to 
clip  such  as  overpassed  the  permitted 
dimensions,  which  sooner  than  submit 
to  she  should  die. 

Lady  Surrey  smiled,  and  said  she 
should  have  judged  so  from  the  size 
of  her  fine  ruff. 

"But  her  majesty  is  impartial," 
quoth  Mrs.  Bellamy ;  "  for  the  gentle- 
men's rapiers  are  served  in  the  same 
manner.  And  verily  this  law  hath 
nearly  procured  a  war  with  France; 
for  in  Smithfield  Lane  some  clownish 
constables  stayed  M.  de  Castelnau, 
and  laid  hands  on  his  sword  for  to 
shorten  it  to  the  required  length.  I 
leave  you  to  judge,  Lady  Surrey,  of 
this  ambassador's  fury.  Sir  Henry 
Seymour,  who  was  taking  the  air  in 
Smithfield  at  the  time,  perceived  him 
standing  with  the  drawn  weapon  in  his 
hand,  threatening  to  kill  whosoever 
should  approach  him,  and  destruction 
on  this  realm  of  England  if  the  offi- 
cers should  dare  to  touch  his  sword 
again  ;  and  this  with  such  frenzy  of 
speech  in  French  mixed  with  English 
none  could  understand,  that  God 
knowelh  what  should  have  ensued  if 
Sir  Henry  had  not  interfered.  Her 
majesty  vvas  forced  to  make  an  apolo- 
gy to  this  mounseer  for  that  her  offi- 
cers had  ignorantly  attempted  to  clip 
the  sword  of  her  good  brother's  en- 
voy." 

"  Why  doth  she  not  clip,"  Mistress 
Frances  said,  "if  such  be  her  present 
humor,  the  orange  manes  of  her  gray 
Dutch  horses,  which  are  the  fright- 
fullest  things  in  the  world  ?" 

"'Tis  said,"  quoth  Mrs.  Bellamy, 
"  that  a  new  French  embassy  is  soon 
expected,  with  the  dauphin  of  Au- 
vergne  at  its  head." 

"  Yea,"  cried  her  daughter,  "  and 
four  handsome  English  noblemen   to 


meet  them  at  the  Tower  stairs,  and 
conduct  them  to  the  new  banqueting- 
liousc  at  Westminster, — my  Lord  Sur- 
rey, Lord  Windsor,  Sir  Philip  Syd*- 
ney,  and  Sir  Fulkc  Grevillc,  Me* 
thinks  this  should  be  a  very  fin 3  sight., 
if  rain  doth  not  fall  to  spoil  i'." 

I  saw  my  Lady  SuiTcy's  counte" 
nance  change  when  her  husband  was 
mentioned  ;  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  looked 
at  her  daughter  forasmuch  as  to  check 
her  thoughtless  speeches,  v/hich  caus- 
ed this  young  lady  to  glance  round 
the  room,  seeking,  as  it  seemed,  for 
some  other  topic  of  conversation. 

Methinks  I  should  not  have  pre- 
served so  lively  a  recollection  of  the 
circumstances  of  this  visit  if  some  dis- 
mal tidings  which  reached  me  after- 
ward touching  this  gentlewoman,  then 
so  thoughtless  and  innocent,  had  not 
revived  in  me  the  memory  of  her  gay 
prattle,  bright  unabashed  eyes,  and 
audacious  dealing  with  subjects  so 
weighty  and  dangerous,  that  any  one 
less  bold  should  have  feared  to  handle 
them.  After  the  pause  wliicli  ensued 
on  the  mention  of  Lord  Surrey's  name, 
she  took  for  her  text  wliat  had  been 
said  touching  the  prohibitions  lately 
issued  concerning  ruffs  and  rapiers, 
and  began  to  mock  at  her  majesty's 
favorites  ;  yea,  and  to  mimic  her  ma- 
jesty herself  with  so  much  humor 
that  her  well-acted  satire  must  have 
needs  constrained  any  one  to  laugh. 
Then,  not  contented  with  these  dan- 
gerous jests,  she  talked  such  direct 
treason  against  her  highness  as  to  say 
she  hoped  to  see  her  dethroned,  and  a 
fair  Catholic  sovereign  to  reign  in  her 
stead,  who  would  be  less  shrewish  to 
young  and  handsome  ladies.  Then  her 
mother  cried  her,  for  mercy's  sake,  to 
restrain  her  mad  speech,  which  would 
serve  one  day  to  bring  them  all  into  • 
trouble,  for  all  she  meant  it  in  jest. 

"  Marry,  good  mother,"  she  answer- 
ed, "  not  in  jest  at  all ;  for  I  do  verily 
hold  myself  bound  to  no  allegiance  to 
this  queen,  and  would  gladly  see  her 
get  her  deserts." 

Then  Lady  Surrey  prayed  her  not 
to  speak  so  rashly  ;    but  methought  in  . 


152 


Oonstance  SJierwood. 


her  heart,  and  somewhat  I  could  per- 
ceive of  this  in  her  eyes,  she  misHked 
not  wholly  this  young  lady's  words, 
who  then  spoke  of  religion  ;  and  oh, 
how  zealous  therein  she  did  appear, 
how  boldly  affirmed  (craving  Lady 
Surrey's  pardon,  albeit  she  would  war- 
rant, she  said,  there  was  no  need  to  do 
so,  her  ladyship  she  had  heard  being 
half  a  papist  herself)  that  she  had  as 
lief  be  racked  twenty  times  over  and 
die  also,  or  her  face  to  be  so  disfigur- 
ed that  none  should  call  her  ever  after 
anything  but  a  fright — which  martyr- 
dom she  held  would  exceed  any  yet 
thought  of — than  so  much  as  hold  her 
tongue  concerning  her  faith,  or  stay 
from  telling  her  majesty  to  her  face,  if 
she  should  have  the  chance  to  get 
speech  with  her,  that  she  was  a  foul 
heretic,  and  some  other  truths  beside, 
which  but  once  to  utter  in  her  presence, 
come  of  it  what  would,  should  be  a 
delicious  pleasure.  Then  she  railed 
at  the  Catholics  which  blessed  the 
queen  before  they  suffered  for  their  re- 
ligion, proving  them  wrong  with  in- 
genious reasons  and  fallacious  argu- 
ments, mixed  with  pleasantries  not 
wholly  becoming  such  grave  themes. 
But  it  should  have  seemed  as  reason- 
able to  be  angry  with  a  child  babbhng 
at  random  of  life  and  death  in  the 
midst  of  its  play,  as  with  this  creature, 
the  lightest  of  heart,  the  fairest  in 
face,  the  most  winsome  in  manner, 
and  most  careless  of  danger,  that  ever 
did  set  sail  on  life's  stream. 

Oh,  how  all  this  rose  before  me 
again,  when  I  heard,  two  years  after- 
ward, that  for  her  bold  recusancy — • 
alas  !  more  bold,  as  the  sequel  proved, 
than  deep,  more  passionate  than  fer- 
vent— this  only  cherished  daughter, 
this  innocent  maiden,  the  mirror  of 
whose  fame  no  breath  had  sullied,  and 
on  whose  name  no  shadow  had  rested, 
was  torn  by  the  pursuivants  from  her 
parents'  home,  and  cast  into  a  prison 
with  companions  at  the  very  aspect  of 
which  virtue  did  shudder.  And  the 
unvaliant  courage,  the  weak  bravery, 
of  this  indulged  and  wayward  young 
lady  had  no  strength  wherewith  to  re- 


sist the  surging  tides  of  adversity. 
No  voice  of  parent,  friend,  or  ghostly 
father  reached  her  in  that  abode  of 
despair.  No  visible  angel  visited  her, 
but  a  fiend  in  human  form  haunted  her 
dungeon.  Liberty  and  pleasure  he 
offered  in  exchange  for  virtue,  honor, 
and  faith.  She  fell ;  sudden  and 
great  was  that  fall. 

There  is  a  man  the  name  of  which 
hath  blenched  the  cheeks  and  riven 
the  hearts  of  Catholics,  one  who  hath 
caused  many  amongst  them  to  lose 
their  lands  and  to  part  from  their 
homes,  to  die  on  gibbets  and  their 
limbs  to  be  torn  asunder — one  Richard 
Topcliffe.  But,  methinks,  of  all  the 
voices  which  shall  be  raised  for  to  ac- 
cuse him  at  Christ's  judgmeiijt-seat,  the 
loudest  will  be  Frances  Bellamy's. 
Her  ruin  was  his  work ;  one  of  those 
works  which,  when  a  man  is  dead, 
do  follow  him;  whither,  God  know- 
eth! 

Oh,  you  who  saw  her,  as  I  did,  in 
her  young  and  innocent  years,  can 
you  read  this  without  shuddering? 
Can  you  think  on  it  without  weeping  ? 
As  her  fall  was  sudden,  so  was  th? 
change  it  wrought.  With  it  vanished 
aflfections,  hopes^  womanly  feelings, 
memory  of  the  past ;  nay,  methinks 
therein  I  err.  Memory  did  yet  abide, 
but  linked  with  hatred ;  Satan's  mem- 
ory of  heaven.  From  depths  to 
depths  she  hath  sunk,  and  is  now  wed- 
ded to  a  mean  wretch,  the  gaoler  of 
her  old  prison.  So  rank  a  hatred 
hath  grown  in  her  against  recusants 
and  mostly  priests,  that  it  rages  like  a 
madness  in  her  soul,  which  thirsts  for 
their  blood.  Some  months  back, 
about  the  time  I  did  begin  to  write 
this  history,  news  reached  me  that  she 
had  sold  the  life  of  that  meek  saint, 
that  sweet  poet.  Father  Southwell,  of 
which  even  an  enemy.  Lord  Mount- 
joy,  did  say,  when  he  had  sec:i  him 
suffer,  "  I  pray  God,  where  thai  m  in's 
soul  now  is,  mine  may  one  d.iy  be." 
Her  father  had  concealel  him  in  th:it 
house  wliere  she  had  dwelt  in  her  in- 
nocent days.  None  b:it  the  tainily 
knew  the   secret   of  its  hiding-place. 


Constance  SJieituood. 


153 


I 


She  (lid  reveal  it,  and  took  gold  for 
her  wages  !  "What  shall  be  that  wo- 
man's death-bed?  What  trace  doLh 
remain  on  her  soul  of  what  was  once 
a  share  in  the  divine  nature  ?  May 
one  of  God's  ministers  be  nigh  unto 
her  in  that  hour  for  to  bid  her  not  de- 
spair !  If  Judas  had  repented,  Jesus 
would  have  pardoned  him.  Perad- 
venture,  misery  without  hope  of  relief 
overthrew  her  brain.  I  do  pray  for 
her  always.  'Tis  a  vain  thought  per- 
haps, but  I  sometimes  wish  I  might, 
though  I  see  not  how  to  compass  it, 
yet  once  speak  with  her  before  she  or 
I  die.  Methinks  I  could  say  such 
words  as  should  touch  some  old  chord 
in  her  dead  heart.  God  knoweth  ! 
That  day  I  write  of,  little  did  I  ween 
what  her  end  would  be.  But  yet  it 
feared  me  to  hear  one  so  young  and  of 
so  frail  an  aspect  speak  so  boastfully ; 
and  it  seemed  even  then  to  my  inex- 
perienced mind,  that  my  Lady  Surrey, 
who  had  so  humbly  erewhile  accused 
herself  of  cowardice  and  lamented  her 
weakness,  should  be  in  a  safer  plight, 
albeit  as  yet  unreconciled. 

The  visit  I  have  described  had 
lasted  some  time,  when  a  servant  came 
with  a  message  to  her  ladyship  from 
Mr.  Hubert  Rook  wood,  who  craved 
to  be  admitted  on  an  urgent  matter. 
She  glanced  at  me  somewhat  surprised, 
upon  which  I  made  her  a  sign  that  she 
should  condescend  to  his  request ;  for 
I  supposed  he  had  seen  Sir  Francis 
Walsingliam,  and  was  in  haste  to  con- 
fer with  me  touching  that  interview  ; 
and  she  ordered  him  to  be  admitted. 
Mrs.  Bellamy  and  her  daughter  rose 
to  go  soon  after  his  entrance ;  and 
whilst  Lady  Surrey  conducted  them  to 
the  door  he  asked  me  if  her  ladyship 
was  privy  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
When  I  had  satisfied  him  thereof,  he 
related  what  had  passed  in  an  inter- 
view he  had  with  Sir  Francis,  whom 
he  found  ill-disposed  at  first  to  stir  in 
the  matter,  for  he  said  his  frequent  re- 
monstrances in  favor  of  recusants  had 
been  like  to  bring  him  into  odium 
with  some  of  the  more  zealous  Protest- 
ants, and  that  he  must  needs,  in  every 


case  of  that  sort,  prove  it  to  be  nis 
sole  object  to  bring  such  persons  more 
surely,  albeit  slowly,  by  means  of  tol- 
eration, to  a  rightful  conformity ;  and 
that  with  regard  to  priests  he  was 
very  loth  to  interfere. 

"I  was  compelled,"  quoth  Hubert 
"  to  use  such  arguments  as  fell  in  with 
the  scope  of  his  discourse,  and  to  flatter 
him  with  the  hope  of  good  results  in 
that  which  he  most  desired,  if  he  would 
procure  Mr.  Sherwood's  release,  which 
I  doubt  not  he  hath  power  to  effect. 
And  in  the  end  he  consented  to  lend 
his  aid  therein,  on  condition  he  should 
prove  on  his  side  so  far  conformable 
as  to  suffer  a  minister  to  visit  and  con- 
fer with  him  touching  religion,  which 
would  then  be  a  pretext  for  his  release, 
as  if  it  were  supposed  he  was  well  dis- 
posed toward  Protestant  religion,  and 
a  man  more  like  to  embrace  the 
truth  when  at  liberty  than  if  driven 
to  it  by  stress  of  confinement.  Then 
he  would  procure,"  he  added,  "  an  or- 
der for  his  passage  to  France,  if  he 
promised  not  to  return,  except  h*' 
should  be  willing  to  obey  the  laws." 

"  I  fear  me  much,"  I  answered,  "  my 
father  will  not  accept  these  terms 
which  Sir  Francis  doth  offer.  Me- 
thinks he  will  consider  they  do  involve 
some  lack  of  the  open  profession  of  his 
faith." 

"It  would  be  madness  for  one  in 
his  plight  to  refuse  them,"  Hubert 
exclaimed,  and  appealed  thereon  to 
Lady  Surrey,  who  said  she  did  in- 
deed think  as  he  did,  for  it  was  not 
like  any  better  could  be  obtained. 

It  pained  me  he  should  refer  to  her, 
who  from  conformity  to  the  times 
could  not  well  conceive  how  tender  a 
Catholic  conscience  should  feel  at  the 
least  approach  to  dissembling  on  this 
point. 

"AVherein,"  he  continued,  "is  the 
harm  for  to  confer  with  a  minister,  or 
how  can  it  be  construed  into  a  denial 
of  a  man's  faith  to  listen  to  hi::  argu- 
ments, unless,  indeed,  he  feels  himself 
to  be  in  danger  of  being  shaken  by 
them?" 

"  You  very  well  know,"  I  exclaimed 


154 


Constance  Sherwood. 


with  some  warmth,  "  that  not  to  be  my 
meaning,  or  what  I  suppose  his  should 
be.  Our  priests  do  constantly  crave 
for  public  disputations  touching  reli- 
gion, albeit  they  eschew  secret  ones, 
which  their  adversaries  make  a  pre- 
text of  to  spread  reports  of  their  ina- 
bility to  defend  their  faith,  or  willing- 
ness to  abandon  it.  But  heaven  for- 
bid I  should  anyways  prejudge  this 
question ;  and  if  with  a  safe  conscience 
— and  with  no  other  I  am  assured  will 
he  do  it — ^my  father  doth  subscribe  to 
this  condition,  then  God  be  praised  for 
it!" 

"  But  you  will  move  him  to  it,  Mis- 
tress Constance  ?"  he  said. 

"  If  I  am  so  happy,"  I  answered, 
"  as  to  get  speech  with  him,  verily  I 
will  entreat  him  not  to  throw  away 
his  life,  so  precious  to  others,  if  so  be 
he  can  save  it  without  detriment  to  his 
conscience." 

"  Conscience  !"  Hubert  exclaimed, 
"  methinks  that  word  is  often  misap- 
plied in  these  days." 

*'  How  so  ?"  I  asked,  investigating 
his  countenance,  for  I  misdoubted  his 
meaning.  Lady  Surrey  likewise 
seemed  desirous  to  hear  what  he 
should  say  on  that  matter. 

"  Conscience,"  he  answered,  "  should 
make  persons,  and  mostly  women, 
careful  how  they  injure  others,  and 
cause  heedless  suffering,  by  a  too  great 
stiffness  in  refusing  conformity  to  the 
outward  practices  which  the  laws  of 
the  country  enforce,  when  it  affects 
not  the  weightier  points  of  faith,  which 
God  forbid  any  Catholic  should  deny. 
There  is  often  as  much  of  pride  as  of 
virtue  in  such  rash  obstinacy  touching 
small  yieldings  as  doth  involve  the 
ruin  of  a  family,  separation  of  parents 
and  children,  and  more  evils  than  can 
be  thought  of." 

"  Hubert,"  I  said,  fixing  mine  eyes 
on  him  with  a  searching  look  he  cared 
not,  I  ween,  to  meet,  for  he  cast  his  on 
a  paper  he  had  in  his  hand,  and  raised 
tl)em  not  while  I  spoke,  "  it  is  by  such 
reasonings  first,  and  then  by  such 
small  yieldings  as  you  commend,  that 
some  have  been    led  two    or  three 


times  in  their  lives,  yea,  ofcener  per- 
haps, to  profess  different  religions, 
and  to  take  such  contradictory  oaths 
as  have  been  by  turns  prescribed  to 
them  under  different  sovereigns,  and 
God  each  time  called  on  to  witness 
their  perjuries,  whereby  truth  and 
falsehood  in  matters  of  faith  shall  come 
in  time  to  be  words  without  any  mean- 
ing." 

Then  he :  "  You  do  misapprehend 
me.  Mistress  Constance,  if  you  think 
I  would  counsel  a  man  to  utter  a  false- 
hood, or  feign  to  believe  that  which  in 
his  heart  he  thinketh  to  be  false.  But, 
in  heaven's  name,  I  pray  you,  what 
harm  will  your  father  do  if  he  listens 
to  a  minister's  discourse,  and  suffers  it 
to  be  set  forth  he  doth  ponder  thereon, 
and  in  the  meantime  escapes  to 
France?  whereas,  if  he  refuses  the 
loophole  now  offered  to  him,  he  causeth 
not  to  himself  alone,  but  to  you  and 
his  other  friends,  more  pain  and  sor- 
sow  than  can  be  thought  of,  and  de- 
prives the  Church  of  one  of  her  ser- 
vants, when  her  need  of  them  is 
greatest." 

I  made  no  reply  to  this  last  speech  ; 
for  albeit  I  thought  my  father  would 
not  accede  to  these  terms,  I  did  not  so 
far  trust  mine  own  judgment  thereon 
as  to  predict  with  certainty  what  his 
answer  should  be.  And  then  Hubert 
said  he  had  an  order  from  Sir  Francis 
thats  would  admit  me  on  the  morrow 
to  see  my  father ;  and  he  offered  to  go 
with  me,  and  Mistress  Ward  too,  if  I 
listed,  to  present  it,  albeit  I  alone 
should  enter  his  cell.  I  thanked  him, 
and  fixed  the  time  of  our  going. 

When  he  had  left  us,  Lady  Surrey 
commended  his  zeal,  and  also  his  mod- 
erate spirit,  which  did  charitably 
allow,  she  said,  for  such  as  conformed 
to  the  times  for  the  sake  of  others 
which  their  reconcilement  would  very 
much  injure. 

Before  I  could  reply  she  changed 
this  discourse,  and,  putting  her  hands 
on  my  shoulders  and  kissing  my  fore- 
head, said, 

"  My  Lady  Lumley  hath  heard  so 
much  from  her  poor  niece  of  one  Mis- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


155 


tress  Constance  Sherwood,  tliat  she 
doth  greatly  wish  to  see  this  young 
gentlewoman  and  very  resolved 
papist."  And  then  taking  me  by 
the  arm  she  led  me  to  that  lady's 
(chamber,  where  I  had  as  kind  a 
welcome  as  ever  I  received  from 
uny  one  from  her  ladyship,  who 
said  "  her  dear  Nan's  friends  should 
be  always  as  dear  to  her  as  her 
own,"  and  added  many  fine  com- 
mendations greatly^  exceeding  my 
deserts. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

When  I  had  been  a  short  time 
in  my  Lady  Lumley's  chamber,  my 
Lord  Arundel  sent  for  his  grand- 
daughter, who  was  wont,  she  told 
me,  at  that  hour  to  write  letters 
for  him ;  and  I  stayed  alone  with 
her  ladyship,  who,  as  soon  as  Lady 
Surrey  left  us,  thus  broke  forth  in 
her  praise : 

"  Hath  any  one,  think  you.  Mis- 
tress Sherwood,  ever  pictured  or 
imagined  a  creature  more  noble, 
more  toward  in  disposition,  more 
virtuous  in  allher  actions,  of  greater 
courage  in  adversity  or  patience 
under  ill-usage  than  this  one,  which 
God  hath  sent  to  this  house  to  cheer 
two  lonely  hearts,  whilst  her  own 
is  well-nigh  broken  ?" 

"  Oh !  my  Lady  Lumley,"  I  ex- 
claimed, "  I  fear  some  new  misfor- 
tune hath  befallen  this  dear  lady, 
who  is  indeed  so  rare  a  piece  of 
goodness  that  none  can  exceed  in 
describing  her  deserts.  Hitherto 
she  hath  condescended  to  impart 
her  sorrows  to  her  poor  friend ;  but 
to-day  she  shut  up  her  griefs  in  her 
own  bosom,  albeit  I  could  read  un- 
spoken suffering  in  every  lineament 
of  her  sweet  countenance." 

"  God  forgive  me,"  her  ladyship 
replied,  "if  in  speaking  of  her 
wrongs  I  should  entertain  over-re- 
sentful feelings  toward  her  ungra- 
cious husband,  whom  once  I  did 
love  as  a  mother,  and  very  loth 


hath  my  heart  been  to  condemn 
liim;  but  now,  if  it  were  not  that 
I  myself  received  him  in  my  arms 
what  time  he  was  born,  whose  life 
was  the  cause  of  my  sweet  young 
sister's  death,  I  should  doubt  he 
could  be  her  son." 

"What  fresh  injury,"  I  timidly 
asked,  "hath  driven  Lady  Surrey 
from  her  house  ?  " 

"-Ser  house  no  longer,"  quoth 
Lady  Lumley.  "  She  hath  no  house, 
no  home,  no  husband  worthy  of  the 
name,  and  only  an  old  man  nigh 
unto  the  grave,  alas  !  and  a  poor 
feeble  woman  such  as  I  am  to  raise 
a  voice  in  her  behalf,  who  is  spurn- 
ed by  one  who  should  have  loved 
and  cherished  her,  as  twice  before 
God's  altar  he  vowed  to  do.  Oh  ! ' 
cried  the  poor  lady,  weeping,  '•  she 
hath  borne  all  things  else  wiili  a 
sweet  fortitude,  which  angels  look- 
ing down  on  her  must  needs  have 
wondered  at.  She  would  ever  be 
excusing  this  faithless  hu^band 
with  many  pretty  wiles  and  lot ing 
subterfuges,  making,  sweet  sophist, 
the  worst  appear  the  better  reason. 
'Men  must  needs  be  pardoned,'  she 
would  say,  when  my  good  father 
waxed  wroth  at  his  ill-usage  of  her, 
'  for  such  outward  neglect  as  many 
practise  in  these  days  toward  their 
wives,  for  that  it  was  the  fashion  at 
the  court  to  appear  unhusbandly  ; 
but  if  Avomen  would  be  patient,  she 
would  warrant  them  their  love 
should  be  requited  at  last.'  And 
Avhen  news  came  that  Phil  had  sold 
an  estate  for  to  purchase — God 
save  the  mark! — a  circlet  of  black 
pearls  for  the  queen :  and  Lord 
Arundel  swore  he  should  leave 
him  none  of  his  lands  but  what 
by  act  of  Parliament  he  was  com- 
pelled to  do,  she  smiled  Avin- 
somely,  and  said  :  "  Yea,  my 
lord,  I  pray  you,  let  my  dear 
Phil  be  a  poor  man  as  his  father 
wished  him  to  be,  and  then,  if  it 
please  God,  we  may  live  in  a  cot- 
tage and  be  happy.'  And  so  turned 
away  his  anger  by  soft  w^ords,  for  he 


156 


Constance  Sherwood. 


laughed  and  answered :  *  Heaven  help 
thee,  Nan !  but  I   fear   that   cottage 
must  needs  be  Arundel  Castle,  for  my 
hands  are  so  tied   therein    that   thy 
knavish   husband  cannot  fail   to   in- 
herit it.     And  beshrew  me  if  I  would 
either  rob  thee  of  it,  mine  own  good 
Nan,  or  its   old   walls  of  thy   sweet 
presence  when  I  shall  be  dead/     And 
so  she  always  pleaded  for  him,  and 
never  lost  heart  until  .  .  .  Oh,  Mis- 
tress Sherwood,  I  shall  never  forget 
the  day  when  her  uncle,  Francis  Da- 
cre — wisely  or  unwisely  I  know  not, 
but  surely  meaning  well— gave  her  to 
read  in  this   house,   where   she   was 
spending  a  day,  a  letter  which  had 
fallen  into  liis  hands,  I  wot  not  how, 
in   the   which     Phihp — God    forgive 
him  ! — expressed  some  kind  of  doubt 
if  he  was  truly  married  to  her  or  not. 
Some  wily  wretch  had,  I  ween,  whis- 
pered to  him,  in  an  evil  hour,  this  ac- 
cursed thought.     When  she  saw  this 
misdoubt   written     in    his   hand    she 
straightway   fell   down    in   a   swoon, 
Avhich  recovering  from,  the  first  thing 
she  did  was  to  ask  for  her  cloak  and 
liat,  and  would  have  walked  alone  to 
her   house  if  I  had  not  stayed    her 
almost  by  force,  until  Lord  Arundel's 
coach  could  be  got  ready  for  her.     In 
less  than  two  hours  she  returned  with 
so  wan  and  death-like  a  countenance 
that  it  frighted  me  to   see  her,  and 
for  some  time  she  would  not  speak  of 
what  had  passed  between  her  lord  and 
herself;  only  she    asked  for  to   stay 
always  in  this  house,  if  it  should  please 
her  grandfather,  and  not  to  part  from  us 
any  more.  At  the  which  speech  I  could 
but  kiss  her,  and  with  many  tears  pro- 
test that  this  should  be  the  joyfuUest 
news  in  the  world  to  Lord  Arundel 
and  to  me,  and  what  he  would  most 
desire,   if  it  were  not   for  her  grief, 
which,  like  an  ill  wind,  yet  did  blow 
us  this  good.     *Yea,'  she  answered, 
with  the  deepest  sigh  which  can  be 
thought  of,    *a   cold,  withering  blast 
which   driveth  me   from   the  shelter 
which  should  be  mine  1     I  have  heard 
it  said  that  when  Cardinal  Wolsey  lay 
a-dying  he  cried,  "  It  were  well  with 


me  now  if  I  had  served  my  God  with 
the  like  zeal  with  which  I  have  served 
my  king,"  or  some  words  of  that  sort. 
Oh,  my  Lady  Lumley  !'  the  poor  child 
exclaimed, '  if  I  had  not  loved  Philip 
more  than  God  and  his  Church,  me- 
thinks  I  should  not  thus  be  cast  off!' 
'  Cast  off,'  I  cried ;  '  and  has  my  grace- 
less nephew,  then,  been  so  wicked  ?' 
*0h,  he  is  changed,'  she  answered — 
'  he  is  changed.  In  his  eyes,  in  his 
voice,  I  found  not  Philip's  looks,  nor 
Phihp's  tones.  Nought  but  harshness 
and  impatience  to  dismiss  me.  The 
queen,  he  said,  was  coming  to  rest  at 
his  house  on  her  way  to  the  city,  and 
he  lacked  leisure  to  listen  to  my  com 
plaints.  Then  I  felt  grief  and  anger 
rise  in  my  breast  with  such  vehemen- 
cy  that  I  charged  him,  maybe  too 
suddenly,  with  the  doubt  he  had  ex- 
pressed in  his  letter  to  my  Lord  Ox- 
ford. His  face  flushed  deeply ;  but 
drawing  up  haughtily,  as  one  aggriev- 
ed, he  said  the  manner  of  our  marry- 
ing had  been  so  unusual  that  there  were 
some,  and  those  persons  well  qualified 
to  judge,  who  misdoubted  if  there  did 
not  exist  a  flaw  in  its  validity.  That 
he  should  himself  be  loth  to  think  so  , 
but  that  to  seek  at  that  moment  to 
prove  the  contrary,  when  his  fortunes 
hung  on  a  thread,  would  be  to  ruin 
him.' 

"  There  she  paused,  and  clasped  her 
hands  together  as  if  scarce  able  to 
proceed :  but  soon  raising  her  head, 
she  related  in  a  passionate  manner 
how  her  heart  had  then  swelled  well- 
nigh  to  bursting,  pride  and  tenderness 
restraining  the  utterance  of  such  re- 
sentful thoughts  as  rose  in  her  when 
she  remembered  his  father's  last  let- 
ter, wherein  he  said  his  chief  prop 
and  stay  in  his  fallen  estate  should 
be  the  wife  he  had  bestowed  on  him  ; 
of  her  own  lands  sold  for  the  supply 
of  his  prodigal  courtiership  ;  of  her 
long  patience  and  pleading  for  him  to 
others  ;  and  this  his  present  treatment 
of  her,  which  no  wife  could  brook, 
even  if  of  mean  birth  and  virtue, 
much  less  one  his  equal  in  condition, 
as  well  dowered  as  any  in  the  land, 


Constance  Sherwood. 


157 


;r:id  an  faithful  and  tender  to  him  as 
he  did  prove  untoward  to  her.  But 
none  of  these  reproaches  passed  her 
lips  ;  for  it  was  an  impossible  thing  to 
her,  she  said,  to  urge  her  own  deserts, 
or  so  much  as  mention  the  fortune  she 
liad  brought  him.  Only  twice  she  re- 
peated, '  Ruin  your  fortunes,  my  lord  ! 
ruin  your  fortunes !  God  help  me,  I 
had  thought  rather  to  mend  them!' 
And  then,  when  he  tried  to  answer 
her  in  some  sort  of  evading  fashion, 
as  if  unsaying,  and  yet  not  wholly 
denying  his  former  speech,  she  broke 
forth  (and  in  the  relation  of  this  scene 
the  passion  of  her  grief  renewed 
itself)  in  vehement  adjurations,  which 
seemed  somewhat  to  move  him,  not  to 
be  so  unjust  to  her  or  to  himself  as  to 
leave  that  in  uncertainty  which  so 
nearly  touched  both  their  honors  ;  and 
if  the  thought  of  a  mutual  love 
once  existing  between  them,  and  a 
lirm  bond  of  marriage  relied  on  with 
unshaken  security,  and  his  father's  dy- 
ing blessing  on  it,  and  the  humble 
duty  she  had  shown  him  from  the  time 
she  had  borne  his  name,  sufficed  not 
to  resolve  him  thereunto,  yet  for  the 
sake  of  justice  to  one  fatherless  and 
brotherless  as  herself,  she  charged 
him  without  delay  to  make  that  clear 
which,  left  uncertain,  concerned  her 
more  nearly  than  fortune  or  state,  and 
without  which  no,  not  one  day,  would 
she  abide  in  his  house.  Then  the 
f  sweet  soul  said  she  hoped,  from  his 
not  ungracious  silence  and  the  work- 
ing of  his  features,  which  visibly  re- 
vealed an  inward  struggle,  that  his 
next  words  should  have  been  of  com- 
fort to  her  ;  but  when  she  had  drawn 
nigh  to  him,  and,  taking  his  hand,  call- 
ed him  by  his  name  with  so  much  of 
reproachful  endearment  as  could  be 
expressed  in  the  utterance  of  it,  a 
gentleman  broke  into  the  room  crying 
out :  *  My  lord,  my  lord,  the  trumpets 
do  sound !  The  queen's  coach  is  in 
sight.'  Upon  which,  she  said  that, 
with  a  muttered  oath,  he  started  up 
and  almost  thrust  her  from  him,  say- 
ing, '  For  God's  sake,  be  gone  !'  '  And 
by  a  back-door/  she  added,  '  I  went 


out  of  mine  owii  house  into  the  street, 
where  I  had  left  my  Lord  Arundel's 
coach,  and  crept  into  it,  very  faint  and 
giddy,  the  while  the  queen's  coach  did 
enter  the  court  with  gay  banners  wav- 
ing, and  striking-up  of  music,  and  the 
people  crying  out,  "  God  bless  th 
queen  !"  I  cry  God  mercy  for  it,'  she 
said,  '  but  I  could  not  say  amen.'  Now 
she  is  resolved,"  my  Lady  Lumley 
continued,  "  never  to  set  her  foot  again 
in  any  of  her  husband's  houses,  ex- 
cept he  doth  himself  entreat  her  to  it, 
and  makes  that  matter  clear  touching 
his  belief  in  the  validity  of  their  mar- 
riage; and  methinks  she  is  right 
therein.  My  Lord  Arundel  hath 
written  to  remonstrate  with  his  grand- 
son touching  his  ill-usage  of  his  lady, 
and  hath  also  addressed  her  majesty 
thereupon.  But  all  the  comment  she 
did  make  on  his  letter,  I  have  been 
told,  was  this :  *  That  she  had  heard 
my  Lord  Arundel  was  in  his  dotage ; 
and  verily  she  did  now  hold  it  to  bo 
so,  for  that  she  had  never  received  i* 
more  foolish  letter;  and  she  did  pit} 
the  old  white  horse,  which  was  no\7 
only  lit  to  be  turned  out  to  grasi3 ; 
and  other  biting  jests,  which,  when  a 
sovereign  doth  utter  them,  carry  with 
them  a  rare  poignancy." 

Then  my  Lady  Lumley  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  bade  me  to  be  of  good  cheer, 
and  not  to  grieve  overmuch  for  Lady 
Surrey's  troubles  (but  all  the  v/hile 
her  own  tears  continued  to  flow),  for 
that  she  had  so  noble  and  religious  a 
disposition,  with  germs  of  so  much 
virtue  in  it,  that  she  thought  her  to  be 
one  of  those  souls  whom  Almighty 
God  draws  to  himself  by  means  of 
such  trials  as  would  sink  common  na- 
tures ;  and  that  she  had  already  mark- 
ed how,  in  much  prayer,  ever-increas- 
ing good  works,  an^  reading  of  books 
which  treat  of  wholesome  doctrine 
and  instruction,  she  presently  recalled 
the  teachings  of  her  childhood,  and 
took  occasion,  when  any  Catholics  came 
to  the  house,  to  converse  with  them 
touching  religion.  Then,  with  many 
kind  expressions,  she  dismissed  me ; 
and  on  the  stairs,  as  T  went  out,  I  met 


158 


Constance  Shcnoood. 


Lady  Surrey,  who  noticed  mine  eyes 
to  be  red  with  weeping,  and,  embrac- 
ing me,  said : 

"I  ween  Lady  Lumley  hath  been 
no  hider  of  my  griefs,  good  Constance, 
and,  i*  faith,  I  am  obliged  to  her  if  she 
hath  told  thee  that  which  I  would  fain 
not  speak  of,  even  to  thee,  dear  wench. 
There  are  sorrows  best  borne  in  si- 
lence; and  since  the  last  days  we 
talked  together  mine  have  grown  to 
be  of  that  sort.  And  so  farewell  for 
to-day,  and  may  God  comfort  thee  in 
thy  nobler  troubles,  and  send  his  an- 
gels to  thine  aid." 

When  I  returned  to  Holbom,  Mis- 
tress Ward  met  me  with  the  news  that 
she  had  been  to  the  prison,  and  heard 
that  Mr.  Watson  was  to  be  strenuous- 
ly examined  on  an  approaching  day 
— and  it  is  well  known  what  that  doth 
signify — touching  the  names  of  the 
persons  which  had  harbored  him  since 
his  coming  to  England.  And  albeit 
he  was  now  purposed  steadily  to 
endure  extreme  torments  sooner  than 
to  deny  his  faith  or  injure  others, 
she  did  so  much  apprehend  the  weak- 
ness of  nature  should  betray  him,  that 
her  resolve  was  taken  to  attempt  the 
next  day,  or  rather  on  the  following 
night,  to  further  his  escape.  But  how, 
she  asked,  could  my  father  be  dealt 
with  in  time  touching  that  matter  ? 
I  told  her  I  was  to  see  him  on  the 
morrow,  by  means  of  an  order  from 
Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  and  should 
then  lay  before  him  the  issues  offered 
unto  his  election.  She  said  she  was 
very  much  contented  to  hear  it ;  and 
added,  she  must  now  secure  boatmen 
to  assist  in  the  escape  who  should  be  re- 
liable Catholic  men ;  and  if  in  this  she 
did  succeed,  she  feared  not  to  fail  in 
her  design. 

At  the  hour  I  had  fixed  upon  with 
Hubert,  on  the  next  day,  he  came  to 
carry  me  to  the  prison  at  Bridewell. 
Mistress  Ward  prevailed  on  Mr.  Con- 
gleton  to  go  thither  with  us,  for  she 
was  loth  to  be  seen  there  in  company 
with  known  persons,  and  added  privily 
in  mme  ear,  "  The  more  so  at  a  time 
when  it  may  happen  I  should  get  into 


trouble  touching  the  matter  I  have  i:i 
hand."  When  we  reached  the  place, 
Hubert  presented  to  the  gaoler  Sir 
Francis's  letter,  which  was  also  signed 
by  the  governor,  and  I  was  forthwith 
conducted  to  my  father's  cell.  When 
I  entered  it,  and  advanced  toward  that 
dear  prisoner,  I  dared  not  in  the  man's 
presence  to  show  either  the  joy  or 
grief  I  felt  at  that  meeting,  but  stood 
by  his  side  like  one  deprived  of  the 
power  of  speech,  and  only  struggling 
to  restrain  my  tears.  I  feared  vre 
should  not  have  been  left  alone,  and 
then  this  interview  should  have  prov- 
ed of  little  use  or  comfort ;  but  after 
setting  for  me  a  chair,  which  he  had 
sent  for — for  there  was  only  one 
small  bench  in  the  cell — this  officer 
withdrew,  and  locked  the  door  on  me 
and  that  dear  parent,  whose  face  was 
very  white  and  wan,  but  who  spoke  in 
as  cheerful  and  kind  a  manner  as  can 
be  thought  of,  albeit  taxing  me  with 
wilfulness  for  that  I  had  not  complied 
with  his  behest  tliat  none  should  come 
to  visit  him.  I  would  not  have  the 
chair  which  had  been  sent  for  mc— 
for  I  did  hold  it  to  be  an  unbecoming 
thing  for  a  daughter  to  sit  down  in  her 
father's  presence  (and  he  a  priest), 
who  had  only  a  poor  bench  to  rest  his 
limbs  on — ^but  placed  myself  on  the 
ground  at  his  feet ;  which  at  first  he 
misliked,  but  afterward  said  it  should 
be  as  I  pleased.  Then,  after  some  af- 
fectionate speeches,  wherein  his  great 
goodness  toward  me  was  shown,  and 
my  answers  to  them,  which  dis- 
burthened  my  heart  of  some  of  the 
weight  which  oppressed  it,  as  did  like- 
wise the  shedding  of  a  few  tears  on 
his  hand,  which  was  clasped  in  mine,  I 
spoke,  in  case  time  should  press,  of 
Sir  Francis's  offer,  and  the  condition 
thereunto  attached,  which  I  did  with 
a  trembling  voice,  and  yet  such  indif- 
ferent tones  as  I  could  affect,  as  ir 
showing  no  leaning  to  one  way  of 
thinking  or  the  other,  touching  his  ac- 
ceptance of  these  terms.  In  the  brief 
time  which  did  elapse  between  my 
speaking  and  his  reply,  methinks  1 
had  an  equal  fear  lest  he  should  as- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


159 


sent  or  dissent  tlierein — filial  love 
mightfully  prompting  me  to  desire  his 
acceptance  of  this  means  of  deliver- 
ance, yet  coupled  with  an  apprehen- 
sion that  in  that  case  he  should  stand 
one  degree  less  high  in  the  favor  of 
God  and  the  eyes  of  men.  But  I  was 
angered  witli  myself  that  I  should  have 
mine  own  thoughts  therein,  or  in  any 
way  form  a  judgment  forestalling  his, 
which  peradventure  would  see  no  evil 
in  this  concession ;  and  forecasting 
also  the  consequences  which  should 
ensue  if  he  refused,  I  resolved  to 
move  him  thereunto  by  some  such 
words  as  these  :  "  My  dearly  beloved 
father,  if  it  be  possible,  I  pray  you 
yield  this  small  matter  to  those  that 
seek  to  save  your  life.  Let  the  min- 
ister come  to  satisfy  Sir  Francis,  and 
all  shall  be  w^ell,  yea,  without  your 
speaking  one  word,  or  by  so  much  as 
one  look  assenting  to  his  arguments." 
I  dared  not  to  meet  his  eyes,  which  he 
fixed  on  me,  but  kept  kissing  his  hand 
v/hilst  he  said :  "  Daughter  Constance, 
labor  not  to  move  me  in  this  matter  > 
for  far  above  all  other  things  I  may 
have  to  suffer,  nothing  would  touch  me 
so  near,  or  be  so  grievous  to  me,  as  to 
see  you,  my  well-beloved  child,  try  to 
persuade  me  unto  that  which  in  re- 
spect of  my  soul  I  will  never  consent 
to.  For,  I  pray  you,  first  as  regards 
religion,  can  I  suffer  any  to  think,  al- 
beit I  should  give  no  cause  for  it  but 
silence,  that  my  faith  is  in  any  wise 
shaken,  which  peradventure  would 
prove  a  stumbling-block  to  others  ?  or, 
touching  truth  and  honesty,  shall  I  ac- 
cept life  and  freedom  on  some  such 
supposition  as  that  I  am  like  to  change 
my  religion,  when  I  should  as  soon 
think  to  cast  myself  into  hell  of  mine 
own  free  will  as  to  deny  one  point  of 
Catholic  belief?  No,  no,  mine  own 
good  child ;  'tis  a  narrow  path  which 
doth  lead  to  heaven,  and  maybe  it 
shall  prove  exceeding  narrow  for  me 
ere  I  reach  its  end,  and  not  over  easy 
to  the  feet  or  pleasant  to  the  eye  ;  but 
God  defend  I  should  by  so  much  as 
one  hair's-breadth  overpass  a  narrow- 
ness which  tendeth  to  so  good  a  con- 


clusion ;  and  verily,  to  be  short,  my 
good  child,  tender  my  thanks  to  Sir 
Francis  Walsingham — who  I  doubt 
not  meaneth  excellently  well  by  me— 
and  to  young  Master  llookwood,  who 
hath  dealt  with  him  therein ;  but  tell 
them  I  am  very  well  pleased  with  my 
present  abode  as  long  as  it  shall  please 
God  to  keep  me  in  this  world ;  and 
when  he  willeth  me  to  leave  it,  believe 
me,  daughter  Constance,  the  quickest 
road  to  heaven  shall  be  the  most  pleas- 
ing to  me." 

His  manner  was  so  resolved  that  I 
urged  him  no  further,  and  only  heav- 
ed a  deep  sigh.  Then  he  said,  kindly  : 
"  Come,  mine  own  good  child,  give  me 
so  much  comfort  as  to  let  me  hear 
that  thou  art  of  the  same  way  of 
thinking  in  this  matter  as  thy  unwor- 
thy but  very  resolved  father." 

"  My  dear  father,"  I  replied,  "  me- 
thinks  I  never  loved  you  so  well,  or 
honored  you  one  half  so  much  as  now, 
when  you  have  cast  off  all  human  con- 
solation, yea,  and  a  certain  hope  o'" 
deliverance,  rather  than  give  oceasion 
to  the  enemies  of  our  faith  to  boast 
they  had  prevailed  on  you,  in  ever  so 
small  a  matter,  to  falter  in  the  open 
profession  thereof;  and  I  pray  God,  if 
ever  I  should  be  in  a  like  plight,  I 
may  not  prove  myself  to  be  otherwise  • 
than  your  true  child  in  spirit  as  in  na- 
ture. As  to  what  shall  now  follow 
your  refusal,  it  lieth  in  God's  hands, 
and  I  know  he  can  deliver  you,  if  he 
doth  will  it,  from  this  great  peril  you 
are  in." 

"  There's  my  brave  wench,"  quoth 
he  then,  laying  his  scarred  hand  on 
my  head ;  "  thy  mother  had  a  pro- 
phetic spirit,  I  ween,  when  she  said  of 
thee  when  yet  a  puling  girl,  '  As  her 
days,  so  shall  her  strength  be.'  Veri- 
ly God  is  very  good,  who  hath  grant- 
ed us  these  moments  of  peaceful  con- 
verse in  a  place  where  we  had  once 
little  thought  for  to  meet." 

As  I  looked  upon  him,  sitting  on  a 
poor  bench  in  that  comfortless  cell,  his 
noble  fair  visage  oldened  by  hardships 
and  toils  rather  than  years,  his  eyes  so 
full  of  peace,  yea  of  contentment,  that 


i6o 


Clonstance  Sherwoodi 


joy  seemed  to  beam  in  them,  I  thought 
of  the  words  of  Holy  Writ,  which  do 
foretell  which  shall  be  said  hereafter 
of  the  just  by  such  as  have  afflicted 
them  and  taken  away  their  labors ; 
'•  There  are  they  whom  we  had  some 
time  in  derision  and  for  a  parable  of 
reproach.  We  fools  esteemed  their 
lite  madness  and  their  end  without 
honor.  Behold,  how  they  are  num- 
bered with  the  children  of  God,  and 
their  lot  amongst  the  saints." 

At  that  time  a  knock  against  the 
wall  was  heard,  and  my  father  set  his 
oar  against  it,  counting  the  number  of 
8uch  knocks  ;  for  it  v/as  Mr.  AV^atson, 
he  said,  beginning  to  converse  with 
him  in  their  wonted  fashion.  "  I  will 
tell  him  I  am  engaged,"  quoth  he,  in 
his  turn  tapping  in  the  same  manner. 

"  But  peradventure  he  hath  some- 
what to  communicate,"  I  said. 

''  No,*'  he  answered,  "  for  in  that 
case  he  would  have  knocked  three 
times  at  first,  for  on  this  signal  we 
have  agreed."  Smiling,  he  added, 
■'  We  do  confess  to  each  other  in  this 
way.  'Tis  somewhat  tedious,  I  do 
:idmit ;  but  thanks  be  to  God  we  lack 
not  leisure  here  for  such  duties." 

Then  I  briefly  told  him  of  Mistress 
Ward's  intent  to  procure  Mr.  Watson's 
escape. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  I  am  privy  to  it, 
and  I  do  pi'ay  God  it  may  succeed.  It 
should  be  to  me  the  greatest  joy  in 
the  world  to  hear  that  good  man  was 
set  free,  or  made  free  by  any  good 
means." 

"Then,"  I  added,  "will  you  not 
join  in  the  attempt,  if  so  be  she  can 
convey  to  you  a  cord  ?  and  the  same 
boat  should  carry  you  both  off.'* 

"  Nay,"  he  replied ;  "  for  more  rea- 
sons than  one  I  am  resolved  against 
tliat  in  mine  own  case  which  in  Mr. 
Watson's  I  do  commend.  This  enter- 
prise must  needs  bring  that  good  wo- 
man, Mrs.  Ward,  into  some  sort  of 
danger,  which  she  doth  well  to  run  for 
his  sake,  and  which  he  doth  not  wrong 
to  consent  unto,  she  being  of  a  willing 
mind  to  encounter  it.  For  if  the  ex- 
tremity of  torture  should  extort  the 


admissions  they  do  seek  from  him, 
many  should  then  grievously  suffer, 
and  mostly  his  own  soul.  But  I  have 
that  trust  in  God,  who  hath  given  mc 
in  all  my  late  perils  what  nature  had 
verily  not  furnished  me  with,  an  un- 
daunted spirit  to  meet  sufferings  with 
somewhat  more  than  fortitude,  with  a 
very  great  joy  such  as  his  grace  can 
only  bestow,  that  he  will  continue  to 
do  so,  whatever  straits  I  do  find  my- 
self in  ;  and  being  so  minded,  I  am  re- 
solved not  again  by  mine  own  doing  to 
put  mine  own  and  others'  lives  in 
jeopardy;  but  to  take  v/liafc  he  shall 
send  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things, 
throwing  all  my  care  on  him,  without 
whose  knowledge  and  will  not  so  much 
as  one  hair  of  our  heads  doth  fall  to 
the  ground.  But  I  am  glad  to  be 
privy  to  the  matter  in  hand  for  Mr. 
Watson,  so  as  to  pray  for  him  this 
day  and  night,  and  also  for  that  noble 
soul  who  doth  show  herself  so  true  a 
Christian  in  her  care  for  his  weal  and 
salvation." 

Then,  changing  to  other  themes,  hf 
inquired  of  me  at  some  length  touch 
ing  the  passages  of  my  life  since  he 
had  parted  with  me,  and  my  disposi- 
tions touching  the  state  of  life  I  was 
about  to  embrace,  concerning  vrhich 
he  gave  me  the  most  profitable  in- 
structions which  can  bo  thought  of, 
and  rules  of  virtue,  which,  albeit  im- 
perfectly observed,  have  proved  of  so 
great  and  wholesome  guidance  to  my 
inexperienced  years  that  I  do  stand 
more  indebted  to  him  for  tliis  fine  ad- 
vice, there  given  me,  than  for  all  other 
benefits  besides.  He  then  spoke  of 
Edmund  Genings,  who,  by  a  special 
dispensation  of  the  Pope,  had  lately 
been  ordained  priest,  being  but  twen- 
ty-three years  of  age,  and  said  the 
preparation  he  had  made  for  receiving 
this  holy  order  was  very  great,  and 
the  impression  the  greatness  of  the 
charge  made  upon  his  mind  so  strong, 
that  it  produced  a  Avondei-ful  effect  in 
his  very  body,  affecting  for  a  time  his 
health.  He  was  infirmarlan  at 
Rheims,  and  labored  among  the  sick 
students,  a  very  model  of  piety  and 


Constance  Sherwood, 


l6i 


humility  ;  but  vlvamus  in  spe  was  still, 
as  heretofore,  his  motto,  and  that  liope 
ill  which  he  hved  was  to  be  sent 
upon  the  EngUsh  mission.  Tliese,  my 
father  said,  were  the  last  tidings  he 
had  heard  of  him.  His  mother  he 
(lid  believe  was  dead,  and  his  younger 
brother  had  left  La  Rochelle  and  was 
in  Paris,  leading  a  more  gay  life  than 
was  desirable.  "And  now  I  pray 
you,  mine  own  dear  honored  father," 
I  said, "  favor  me,  I  beseech  you,  with 
a  recital  of  your  o\vn  haps  since  you 
landed  in  England,  and  I  ceased  to  re- 
ceive letters  from  you."  He  conde- 
scended to  my  request,  in  the  words 
which  do  follow : 

"  Well,  my  good  child,  I  arrived  in 
this  country  one  year  and  five  months 
back,  having  by  earnest  suit  and  no 
small  difficulty  obtained  from  my  su- 
periors to  be  sent  on  the  English  mis- 
sion ;  for  by  reason  of  the  weakness 
of  my  health,  and  some  use  I  was  of 
in  the  college,  owing  to  my  acquaint- 
anceship with  the  French  and  the  Eng- 
lish languages.  Dr.  Allen  was  loth 
o  permit  my  departure.  I  crossed 
vhe  seas  in  a  small  merchant-vessel, 
and  landed  at  Lynn.  The  port-offi- 
cers searched  me  to  the  skin,  and 
found  nothing  on  me  ;  but  one  Sledd, 
an  informer,  which  had  met  me  in  an 
inn  at  Honfleur,  where  I  had  lodged 
for  some  days  before  sailing  for  Eng- 
land, had  taken  my  marks  very  pre- 
cisely ;  and  arriving  in  London  some 
time  before  I  landed  in  Norfolk,  hav- 
ing been  stayed  by  contrary  winds  in 
my  longer  passage,  he  there  presented 
my  name  and  marks  ;  upon  which  the 
queen's  council  sent  to  the  searchers 
of  the  ports.  These  found  the  said 
marks  very  apparent  in  me ;  but  for 
the  avoiding  of  charges,  the  mayor  of 
the  place,  one  Mr.  Alcock,  and  Raw- 
lins the  searcher,  requested  a  gentle- 
nan  which  had  landed  at  the  same 
ime  with  me,  and  who  called  himself 
Haward,  to  carry  me  as  a  prisoner 
to  the  lord-lieutenant  of  the  county. 
He  agreed  very  easily  thereunto;  but 
as  soon  as  we  were  out  of  the  town, 
'  I  cannot,'  says  this   gentleman,  <  in 


conscience,  nor  will  not,  being  myself 
a  Catholic,  deliver  you,  a  Catholic 
priest,  prisoner  to  the  lord-lieutenant. 
But  we  will  go  straight  to  Norwich, 
and  when  we  come  there,  shift  for 
yourself,  as  I  will  do  for  myself.' 

"  Coming  to  Norwich,  I  went  imme- 
diately to  one  of  the  gaols,  and  confer- 
red with  a  Catholic,  a  friend  of  mine, 
which  by  chance  I  found  out  to  be 
there  imprisoned  for  recusancy.  I  re- 
counted to  him  the  order  of  my  ap- 
prehension and  escape;  and  he  told 
me  that  in  conscience  I  could  not 
make  that  escape,  and  persuaded  me 
I  ought  to  yield  myself  prisoner; 
whereupon  I  went  to  my  friend  Haw- 
ard, whom,  through  the  aforesaid 
Catholic  prisoner,  I  found  to  be  no 
other  than  Dr.  Ely,  a  professor  ol 
canon  and  civil  law  at  Douay.  I  re- 
quested him  to  deliver  to  me  the 
mayor's  letter  to  the  lord-lieutenant. 
*  Why,  what  will  you  do  with  it  ? ' 
said  he.  'I  will  go,'  I  said,  'and 
carry  it  to  him,  and  yield  myself  a 
prisoner ;  for  I  am  not  satisfied  I  can 
make  this  escape  in  conscience,  hav- 
ing had  a  contrary  opinion  thereon.' 
And  I  told  him  what  that  prisoner  1 
had  just  seen  had  urged.  '  Why,* 
said  Haward,  *  this  counsel  which 
hath  been  given  you  proceedeth,  I 
confess,  from  a  zealous  mind ;  but  I 
d^ubt  whether  it  carrieth  with  it  the 
weight  of  knowledge.  You  shall  not 
have  the  letter,  nor  you  may  not  in 
conscience  yield  yourself  to  the  perse- 
cutors, having  so  good  means  offered 
to  escape  their  cruelty.'  But  as  I 
still  persisted  in  my  demand,  '  Well,' 
said  Mr.  Haward,  'seeing  you  will 
not  be  turned  by  me  from  this  opinion, 
let  us  go  first  and  consult  with  such  a 
man,'  and  he  named  one  newly  come 
over,  Avho  was  concealed  at  the  house 
of  a  Catholic  not  very  far  off.  This 
was  a  man  of  singular  wit  and  learn- 
ing, and  of  such  rare  virtues  that  I 
honored  and  reverenced  him  greatly,  . 
which  Mr.  Haward  perceiving,  he 
said,  with  a  smile,  '  If  he  be  of  your 
opinion,  you  shall  have  the  letter,  and  . 
go  iu  God's   name  !  *     When  we  came 


1 62 


Constance  Sherwood. 


to  him.  \\2  utterly  dislikctl  of  my  in- 
tention, and  dissuaded  mc  from  Avhat 
he  said  was  a  fond  cogitation.  So 
being  assuaged,  I  went  quietly  about 
my  business,  and  travelled  for  the 
space  of  more  than  a  year  from  one 
Catholic  house  to  another  in  Norfolk 
and  Suffolk,  ministering  the  sacra- 
ments to  recusants,  and  reconciUng 
many  to  the  Church,  which,  from  fear 
or  lack  of  instruction  or  spiritual 
counsel,  or  only  indifferency,  had  con- 
formed to  the  times.  Methinks, 
daughter  Constance,  for  one  such  year 
a  man  should  be  willing  to  lay  down  a 
thousand  lives,  albeit,  or  rather  be- 
cause, as  St.  Paul  saith,  he  be  ^  in 
journeyings  often,  in  perils  from  his 
own  nation,  in  perils  from  false  breth- 
ren' (oh,  how  true  and  applicable  do 
these  words  prove  to  the  Catholics  of 
this  land!),  'in  perils  in  the  city,  in 
perils  of  the  wilderness,  in  perils  of 
the  sea.'  And  if  it  pleases  God  now 
to  send  me  labors  of  another  sort,  so 
that  I  may  be  in  prisons  frequently,  in 
tripes  above  measure,  and,  finally,  in 
death  itself,  his  true  sei-vant, — oh,  be- 
lieve me,  my  good  child,  the  right  fair 
house  1  once  had,  with  its  library  and 
garden  and  orchard,  and  everything 
so  handsome  about  us,  and  the  compa- 
ny of  thy  sweet  mother,  and  thy  win- 
some childish  looks  of  love,  never 
gave  me  so  much  heartfelt  joy  and 
comfort  as  the  new  similitude  I  expe- 
rience, and  greater  I  hope  to  come,  to 
my  loved  and  only  Master's  sufferings 
and  death ! " 

At  this  time  of  his  recital  my  tears 
flowed  abundantly  ;  but  with  an  im- 
parted sweetness,  which,  like  a  reflect- 
ed light,  shone  from  his  soul  on  mine. 
But  to  stay  my  weeping  he  changed 
his  tone,  and  said  with  good  cheer  : 

"  Come  now,  my  wench,  I  will 
presently  make  thee  merry  by  the  re- 
•ital  of  a  strait  in  which  I  once  found 
nyself,  and  which  maketh  me  to  laugli 
lO  think  on  it,  albeit  at  the  time,  I 
warrant  thee,  it  was  like  to  prove  no 
laughable  matter.  It  happened  that 
year  I  speak  of  that  I  was  once  se- 
cretly sent  for  by  a  courtlike  gentle- 


man of  good  wealth  that  had  lived  \\ 
much  bravery,  and  was  then  sick  and 
lying  in  great  pain.  He  had  fallen 
into  a  vehement  agitation  and  deep 
study  of  tlie  life  to  come  ;  and  there- 
upon called  for  a  priest — for  in  mind 
and  opinion  he  was  Catholic — that  lie 
might  learn  from  him  to  die  well. 
According  to  the  custom  of  the 
Church,  I  did  admonish  him,  among 
other  things,  that  if  he  had  any  way 
hurt  or  injured  any  man,  or  unjustly 
possessed  other  'men's  goods,  ho 
should  go  about  by-and-by  to  make 
restitution  according  to  his  ability. 
He  agreed  to  do  so,  and  called  to 
mind  that  he  had  taken  away  some- 
thing from  a  certain  Calvinist,  under 
pretence  of  law  indeed,  but  not  under 
any  good  assurance  for  a  Catholic 
conscience  to  trust  to.  Thareforc  he 
took  order  for  restitutioti  to  be  made, 
and  died.  The  widow,  his  wife,  was 
very  anxious  to  accomplish  her  hus- 
band's will ;  but  being  afraid  to  com- 
mit the  matter  to  any  one,  her  per- 
plexed mind  was  entangled  in  briers 
of  doubtfulness.  She  one  day  declar- 
ed her  grief  unto  me,  and  beseeched 
me,  for  God's  sake,  to  help  her  witli 
my  counsel  and  travail.  So,  seeing 
her  distress,  I  proffered  to  put  myselt 
in  any  peril  that  might  befall  in  the 
doing  of  this  thing ;  but,  indeed,  per- 
suaded myself  that  no  man  would  be 
so  perverse  as  of  a  benefit  to  desin^ 
revengement.  Therefore  committing 
the  matter  to  God,  I  mounted  on 
hoi*seback,  and  away  I  went  on  my 
journey.  AVhiBn  I  camo  to  the  town 
where  the  man  did  dwell  to  whom  the 
money  was  to  be  delivered,  I  set  uj) 
my  horse  in  the  next  inn,  that  I  might 
be  readier  at  hand  to  scape  immedi- 
ately after  my  business  was  despatch- 
ed. I  then  went  to  the  creditor's 
house,  and  called  the  man  forth  alone, 
taking  him  by  the  hand  and  leading 
him  aside  from  the  company  of  others. 
Then  I  declared  to  him  that  I  hail 
money  for  him,  which  I  wo'ild  deliver 
into  his  hands  with  this  condition,  that 
he  inquired  no  further  cithiir  who  sent 
or   who  brought  it  unto  him,  or  what 


Constance  Shencood. 


163 


the  cause  an.d  matter  was,  but  only 
receive  the  money  and  use  it  as  liis 
own.  The  old  fellow  promised  fair, 
and  with  a  good  will  gave  his  word 
faithfully  so  to  do,  and  with  many 
thanks  sent  me  away.  "With  all  the 
speed  I  was  able  to  make,  I  hastened 
to  mine  host's  house,  for  to  catch  hold 
of  my  horse  and  fly  away.  But 
forthwith  the  deceitful  old  fellow  be- 
trayed me,  and  sent  men  after  to  ap- 
prehend rae,  not  supposing  me  this  time 
to  be  a  priest,  but  making  the  surmise 
against  me  that  forsooth  I  was  not  a 
man  but  a  devil,  which  had  brought 
money  of  mine  own  making  to  be- 
witch him.  All  the  people  of  the 
town,  when  they  heard-  the  rumor, 
confirmed  the  argument,  with  this 
proof  among  others,  that  I  had  a 
black  horse,  and  gave  orders  for  to 
watch  the  animal  diligently,  whether 
he  did  eat  hay  as  other  horses,  or  no. 
As  for  me,  they  put  a  horse-lock 
about  my  leg,  shut  me  up  close  in  a 
strong  chamber,  and  appointed  a  fel- 
low to  be  with  me  continually,  night 
and  day,  which  should  watch  if  I  did 
put  off  my  boots  at  any  time,  and  if 
my  feet  were  like  horses'  feet,  or  that 
I  was  cloven-footed,  or  had  feet  sht 
and  forked  as  beasts  have ;  for  this 
they  affirmed  to  be  a  special  mark 
whereby  to  know  the  devil  when  he 
lieth  lurking  under  the  shape  and 
likeness  of  a  man.  Then  the  people 
assembled  about  the  house  in  great 
numbers,  and  proffered  money  largely 
that  they  might  see  this  monster  with 
their  own  eyes  ;  for  by  this  time  they 
were  persuaded  that  I  was  indeed  an 
ill  spirit,  or  the  very  devil.  *  For 
what  man  was  ever  heard  of,'  said 
they,  'which,  if  he  had  the  mind, 
understanding,  and  sense  of  a  man, 
would,  of  his  own  voluntary  will,  and 
without  any  respect  or  consideration 
at  all,  give  or  proffer  such  a  sum  of 
money  to  a  man  utterly  unknown  ?' 
God  knoweth  what  should  have  en- 
sued if  some  hours  later  it  had  not 
chanced  that  Sir  Henry  Stafford  did 
ride  into  the  town,  and,  seeing  a  great 
concourse  of  people  at  the  door  of  the 


inn,  he  stopped  to  inq[uire  into  the 
cause;  which  when  it  was  related  to 
him,  he  said  he  was  a  magistrate,  and 
should  himself  examine,  face  to  face, 
this  limb  of  Satan.  So  I  was  taken 
before  him  into  the  parlor  ;  and  being 
alone  with  him,  and  knowing  liini 
to  be  well-disposed  in  religion,  albe'.t 
conforming  to  the  times,  I  exj^laineJ 
in  a  general  manner  what  sort  of  an 
errand  had  brought  me  to  that  place. 
Methinks  he  guessed  me  to  be  a 
priest,  although  he  said  nothing  there- 
on, but  only  licenssd  me  to  depart  and 
go  away  whither  I  would,  himself  let- 
ting me  out  of  the  house  through  a 
back-door.  I  have  heard  since  that 
he  harangued  the  people  from  the  bal- 
cony, and  told  them,  that  whilst  he 
was  examining  me  a  strong  smell  of 
sulphur  had  come  into  the  chamber, 
and  a  pack  of  devils  carried  me  off 
through  the  window  into  the  air;  and 
he  doubted  not  I  had  by  that  time  re- 
turned to  mine  own  lodging  in  hell. 
Which  he  did,  I  knew,  for  to  prevent 
their  pursuing  me  and  using  such  vio- 
lence as  he  might  not  have  had  mean>5 
to  hinder." 

'•  It  was  not,  then,"  I  asked,  "  on 
this  occasion  you  were  apprehended 
and  taken  to  Wisbeach  ?" 

'•  No,"  he  answered  ;  "  nor  indeed 
can  I  b3  said  to  have  been  apprehend* 
ed  at  all,  for  it  happened  in  this  wise 
that  I  became  a  prisoner.  I  was  one 
day  in  Norwich,  whither  I  had  gone 
to  baptize  a  child,  and,  as  Providence 
would  have  it,  met  with  Ha  ward,  by 
whose  means  I  had  been  set  at  liberty 
one  year  before.  After  ordinary  salu- 
tations, he  said  to  me, '  Mr.  TiinstaH' 
(for  by  that  name  only  he  knew  me), 
'  the  host  of  the  inn  where  you  were 
taken  last  year  says  I  have  undone 
him,  by  suffering  the  prisoner  I  had 
promised  to  deliver  to  escape  ;  for  he 
having  been  my  surety  with  the  may- 
or, he  is  threatened  with  eight  months' 
imprisonment,  or  the  payment  of  a 
large  fine.  He  hath  come  to  this 
town  for  to  seek  me,  and  hath  seized 
upon  me  on  this  charge  ;  so  that  I  be 
only  at  liberty  for  six    hours,  for   I 


164 


Constance  Sherwood. 


promised  that  I  would  bring  you  to 
him  by  four  o'clock  (a  Catholic  mer- 
cliant  yielding  him  security  thereof), 
or  else  that  I  should  deliver  him  my 
body  again.  '  I  am  content/  he  said, 
*  so  that  I  have  one  of  you  two.'  So 
either  you,  Mr.  Tunstall,  or  I,  must 
needs  go  to  prison.  You  know  my 
state  and  condition,  and  may  guess 
how  I  shall  be  treated,  if  once  I  ap- 
pear under  my  right  name  before 
them.  You  know,  also,  your  own 
state.  Now,  it  is  in  your  choice 
whether  of  us  shall  go ;  for  one  must 
go ;  there  is  no  remedy ;  and  to  force 
you  I  will  not,  for  I  had  rather 
sustain  any  punishment  whatsoever.' 
'  Now  God  be  blessed,'  I  cried, '  that 
he  hath  thrown  me  in  your  way  at 
this  time,  for  I  should  never  while  I 
lived  have  been  without  scruple  if 
you  had  gone  to  prison  in  my  stead. 
Nothing  grieveth  me  in  this  but  that  I 
have  not  finished  off  some  business  I 
had  in  this  town  touching  a  person  in 
some  distress  of  mind.'  '  Why,'  said 
Haward,  '  it  is  but  ten  o'clock  yet ; 
you  may  despatch  your  business  by 
four  of  the  clock,  and  then  you  may 
go  to  the  sign  of  the  Star  and  inquire 
for  one  Mr.  Andrews,  the  lord-lieu- 
tenant's deputy,  and  to  him  you  may 
surrender  yourself.'  'So  I  will,'  I 
said ;  and  so  we  parted.  At  four  of 
the  clock  I  surrendered  myself,  and 
was  straightway  despatched  to  Wis- 
beach  Castle,  where  I  remained  for 
three  months.  A  message  reached 
me  there  that  a  Catholic  which  had 
led  a  very  wicked  life,  and  was  lying 
on  his  death-bed,  was  almost  beside 
himself  for  that  he  could  get  no  priest 
to  come  to  him.  The  person  which 
delivered  this  advertisement  left  some 
ropes  with  me,  by  which  means  I 
escaped  out  of  the  window  into 
the  moat  with  such  damage  to  ray 
hands  that  I  was  like  to  lose  the  use 
of  them,  and  perhaps  of  my  life,  if 
these  wounds  had  mortifi(»Ll  before 
good  Lady  TP^strangc  dressed  them. 
But  I  reached  the  poor  sinner,  which 
liad  proved  the  occasion  of  my  escap- 
ing, in  time  for  to  give  him  absolution, 


and  from  Mr.  Rugeley's  house  visited 
many  Catholics  in  that  neighborhood. 
The  rest  is  well  known  to  thee,  my 
good  child.     ..." 

As  he  was  speaking  these  words 
the  door  of  the  cell  opened,  and  the 
gaoler  advertised  me  I  could  tarry  nc 
longer;  so,  with  many  blessings,  my 
dear  father  dismissed  me,  and  I  went 
home  with  Mr.  Congleton  and  Hubert, 
who  anxiously  inquired  what  his  an- 
swer had  been  to  the  proposal  I  had 
carried  to  him. 

"A  most  resolved  denial  of  the  con- 
ditions attached  to  it,"  I  said,  "joined 
to  many  grateful  acknowledgments 
to  Sir  Francis  and  to  you  also  for 
your  efforts  in  his  favor." 

"  'Tis  madness  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yea,"  I  answered,  "  such  madness 
as  the  heathen  governor  did  charge  St. 
Paul  with." 

And  so  no  more  passed  between  us 
whilst  we  rode  back  to  Holborn.  Mr. 
Congleton  put  questions  to  me  touch- 
ing my  father's  health  and  his  looks, 
—if  he  seemed  of  good  cheer,  and 
spoke  merrily  as  he  used  to  do ;  and 
then  we  all  continued  silent.  When 
we  arrived  at  Ely  Place,  Hubert  re- 
fused to  come  into  the  house,  but  de- 
tained me  on  the  outward  steps,  as  if 
desirous  to  converse  with  me  alone. 
Thinking  I  had  spoken  to  him  in  the 
coach  in  an  abrupt  manner  which  sa- 
vored of  ingratitude,  I  said  more  gen- 
tly, "  I  am  very  much  beholden  to 
you,  Hubert,  for  your  well-meaning 
toward  my  father." 

"  I  would  fain  continue  to  help  you," 
he  answered  in  an  agitated  voice. 
"  Constance,"  he  exclaimed,  after  a 
pause,  "  your  father  is  in  a  very  dan- 
gerous plight." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  I,  quickly  ;  "  but 
I  know,  too,  he  is  resolved  and  con- 
tent to  die  rather  than  swerve  an  inch 
from  his  duty  to  God  and  his  Church." 

"  But,"  quoth  he  then,  "  do  you 
wish  to  save  him  ?" 

I  looked  at  him  amazed.  "  Wish 
it !  God  knoweth  that  to  see  him  in 
safety  I  would  have  my  hand  cut  off, 
—yea,  and  my  head  also." 


Constance  Sherwood. 


165 


"  What,  and  rob  him  of  his  expect- 
ant crown — the  martyr's  pahn,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it  ?"  he  said,  with  a  per- 
ceptible sneer. 

*'  Hubert !"  I  passionately  exclaim- 
ed, '•  you  are  invesdgable  to  me ;  you 
chill  ray  soul  with  your  half-uttered 
sentences  and  uncertain  meanings ! 
Once,  I  remember,  you  could  speak 
nobly, — yea,  and  feel  so  too,  as  much 
as  any  one.  Heaven  shield  you  be 
not  wholly  changed !" 

"  Changed !"  quoth  he,  in  a  low 
voice,  ''I  am  changed;"  and  then 
abruptly  altering  his  manner,  and 
leaving  me  in  doubt  as  to  the  change 
he  did  intend  to  speak  of,  he  pressed 
me  to  take  no  measures  touching  my 
father's  release  till  he  had  spoken 
with  me  again  ;  for  he  said  if  his  real 
name  became  known,  or  others  dealt 
in  the  matter,  all  hope  on  Sir  Francis's 
side  should  be  at  an  end.  He  then 
asked  me  if  I  had  heard  of  Basil  late- 
ly. I  told  him  of  the  letter  I  had  had 
from  him  at  Kenninghall  some  weeks 
back.  He  said  a  report  had  reached 
him  that  he  had  landed  at  Dover  and 
was  coming  to  London  ;  but  he  hoped 
it  was  not  true,  for  that  Sir  Henry 
Stafford  was  very  urgent  he  should 
continue  abroad  till  the  expiration  of 
his  wardship. 

I  said,  "  If  he  was  returned,  it  must 
surely  be  for  some  sufficient  cause, 
but  that  I  had  heard  nothing  thereof, 
and  had  no  reason  to  expect  it." 

"  But  you  would  know  it,  I  presume, 
if  he  was  in  London  ?"  he  urged.  I 
misliked  his  manner,  which  always 
put  me  in  mind  of  one  in  the  dark, 
which  feeleth  his  way  as  he  advances, 
and  goeth  not  straight  to  the  point. 

"  Is  Basil  in  England  ?"  I  inquired, 
fixing  mine  eyes  on  him,  and  with  a 
flutter  at  my  heart  from  the  thought 
that  it  should  be  possible. 

''  I  heard  he  was,"  he  answered  in 
a  careless  tone  ;  "  but  I  think  it  not 
to  be  true.  If  he  should  come  whilst 
this  matter  is  in  hand,  I  do  conjure 
you,  Constance,  if  you  value  your 
father's  existence  and  Basil's  also,  let 
him  not  into  this  secret." 


"Wherefore  not.'^"  I  quickly  an- 
swered. "  Why  should  one  meet  to 
be  trusted,  and  by  me  above  all  othc:* 
persons  in  the  world,  be  kept  ignorant 
of  what  so  nearly  doth  touch  me  ?" 

"  Because,"  he  said,  "  there  i.3  r. 
rashness  in  his  nature  whldi  will  as- 
suredly cause  him  to  run  headlong  in- 
to danger  if  not  forcibly  withheld  from 
the  occasions  of  it." 

"I  have  seen  no  tokens  of  yuch 
rashness  as  you  speak  of  in  him,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "  only  of  a  boldness  such  a:3 
well  becomes  a  Christian  and  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  Constance  Sherwood !"  Hubert 
exclaimed,  and  seized  hold  of  my 
hand  with  a  vehemency  which  caused 
me  to  start,  "  I  do  entreat  you,  yea, 
on  my  bended  knees,  if  needs  be,  I 
will  beseech  you  to  beware  of  that  in- 
domitable and  resolved  spirit  which 
sets  at  defiance  restraint,  prudence, 
pity  even  ;  which  leads  you  to  brave 
your  friends,  spurn  wholesome  coun- 
sel, rush  headlong  into  perils  which  I 
forewarn  you  do  hang  thickly  about 
your  path.  If  I  can  conjure  them,  I 
care  not  by  what  means,  I  will  do  s  3  ; 
but  for  the  sake  of  all  jou  do  hoLl 
dear,  curb  your  natural  impetuosity, 
which  may  prove  the  undoing  of  those 
you  most  desire  to  serve." 

There  was  a  plausibility  in  this 
speech,  and  in  mine  own  knowledge  of 
myself  some  sort  of  a  confirmation  of 
what  he  did  charge  me  with,  which  in- 
clined me  somewhat  to  diffide  of  mine 
own  judgment  in  this  matter,  and  not 
to  turn  a  wholly  deaf  ear  to  his  adver- 
tisement. He  had  the  most  persuas- 
ive tongue  in  the  world,  and  a  rare 
art  at  representing  things  under  what- 
ever aspect  he  chose.  He  dealt  so 
cunningly  therein  with  me  that  day, 
and  used  so  many  ingenious  argu- 
ments, that  I  said  I  should  be  very 
careful  how  I  disclosed  anything  to 
Basil  or  any  one  else  touching  my  fa- 
ther's imprisonment,  who  Mr.  Tunstad 
was,  and  my  near  concern  in  his  fate ; 
but  would  give  no  promise  thereupon : 
so  he  was  forced  to  content  himself 
with  as  much  as  he  could  obtain,  a;iJ 


I 


i66 


Constance  Sherwood. 


withdrew  himself  for  that  day,  he 
said ;  but  promised  to  return  on  the 
morrow. 


CHAPTER  XVIIT. 

• 

When  at  last  I  entered  the  house 
I  sought  Mistress  Ward ;  for  I  desir- 
c:i  to  hear  what  assistance  she  had 
procured  for  the  escape  of  the  prison- 
ers, and  to  inform  her  of  my  father's 
resolved  purpose  not  himself  to  at- 
tempt this  flight,  albeit  commending 
her  for  moving  Mr.  Watson  to  it  and 
assisting  him  therein.  Not  finding 
her  in  the  parlor,  nor  in  her  bed- 
chamber, I  opened  the  door  of  my 
aunt's  room,  who  was  now  very  weak, 
and  yet  more  so  in  mind  than  in  body. 
She  was  lying  with  her  eyes  shut, 
and  Mistress  Ward  standing  by  her 
bedside.  I  marked  her  intent  gaze  on 
the  aged,  placid  face  of  the  poor  lady, 
and  one  tear  I  saw  roll  down  her 
cheek.  Then  she  stooped  to  kiss  her 
forehead.  A  noise  I  made  with  the 
liandle  of  the  door  caused  her  to  turn 
round,  and  hastening  toward  me,  she 
took  me  by  the  liand  and  led  me  to 
her  chamber,  where  Muriel  was  fold- 
ing some  biscuits  and  cakes  in  paper 
and  stowing  thom  in  a  basket.  The 
thought  came  to  me  of  the  first  day  I 
had  arrived  in  London,  and  the  com- 
fort I  had  found  in  this  room,  when 
all  except  her  were  strangers  to  me  in 
that  house.  She  sat  down  betwixt 
Muriel  and  me,  and  smiling,  said : 
"  Now,  mine  own  dear  children,  for 
such  my  heart  holds  you  both  to  be, 
and  ever  will  whilst  I  live,  I  am  come 
here  for  to  tell  you  that  I  purpose  not 
to  return  to  this  house  to-night,  nor 
can  I  foresee  when,  if  ever,  I  shall  be 
free  to  do  so." 

"  O,  what  dismal  news  !"  I  exclaim- 
ed, "  and  more  sad  than  I  did  ex- 
pect." 

Muriel  said  nothing,  but  lifting  her 
hand  to  her  lips  kissed  it. 

"You  both  know,"  she  continued, 
"  that  in  order  to  save  one  in  cruel 
risk  and  temptation  of  apostasy,  and 


others  perhaps,  also,  whom  his  possi- 
ble speaking  should  imperil,  I  bo 
about  to  put  myself  in  some  kind  of 
danger,  who  of  all  persons  in  the  world 
possess  the  best  right  to  do  so,  as  hav- 
ing neither  parents,  or  husband,  or 
children,  or  any  on  earth  who  depend 
on  my  care.  Yea,  it  is  true,"  she 
added,  fixing  her  eyes  on  Muriel's 
composed,  but  oh  how  sorrowful, 
countenance,  "  none  dependent  on  my 
care,  albeit  some  very  dear  to  me,  and 
which  hang  on  me,  and  I  on  them,  in  the 
way  of  fond  affection.  God  knowe  th  my 
heart,  and  that  it  is  very  closely  and 
tenderly  entwined  about  each  one  in 
this  house.  Good  Mr.  Congleton  and 
your  dear  mother,  who  hath  clung  to 
me  so  long,  though  I  thank  God  not 
so  much  of  late  by  reason  of  the 
weakening  of  her  mind,  which  hath 
ceased  greatly  to  notice  changes  about 
her,  and  you,  Constance,  my  good 
child,  since  your  coming  hither  a  little 
lass  commended  to  my  keeping.  .  . 
.  ."  There  she  stopped,  and  I  felt 
she  could  not  name  Muriel,  or  then 
so  much  as  look  on  her;  for  if  ever 
two  souls  were  bound  together  by  an 
unperishable  bond  of  affection,  begun 
on  earth  to  last  in  heaven,  tiieirs 
were  so  united.  I  ween  Muriel  was 
already  acquainted  with  her  purpose, 
for  she  asked  no  questions  thereon  ; 
whereas  I  exclaimed,  "  I  do  very  well 
knoVr,  good  Mistress  Ward,  what  perils 
you  do  run  in  this  charitable  enter- 
prise ;  but  wherefore,  I  pray  you,  this 
final  manner  of  parting?  God's  provi- 
dence may  shield  you  from  harm  in 
this  passage,  and,  indeed,  human  prob- 
ability should  lead  us  to  hope  for 
your  safety  if  becoming  precautions  be 
observed.  Then  why,  1  say,  this  cer- 
tain farewell?" 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  "  what- 
ever comes  of  this  night's  enterprise, 
I  return  not  to  this  house." 

"  And  wherefore  not  ?"  I  cried ; 
"  this  is  indeed  a  ciniel  resolve,  a  hard 
misfortune." 

"  Heretofore,"  she  answered,  "  I 
had  noways  offended  against  the  laws 
of    the    country,   except    in    respect 


Constance  Sherwood. 


167 


of    recusancy,  wherein  all    here   arc 
alike   involved;   but  by  mine  act  to- 
night I  do  expose  myself  to  so  seri- 
ous a  charge  (conscience  obliging  me 
to  prefer  the  law  of  divine  charity  to 
that  of  human  authority),  that  I  may 
at  any  time  and  without  the  least  hope 
of  mercy  be  exposed  to  detection  and 
apprehension;    and    so  am   resolved 
not  to  draw  down  sorrow  and  obloquy 
on  the  gray  hairs  of  my  closest  friends 
and  on  your  young  years  such  perils 
as  I  do  willingly  in  mine  own  person 
incur,  but  would  not  have  others  to  be 
involved  in.     Therefore  I  will  lodge, 
leastwise   for  a  time,  with    one  who 
feareth  not  any  more  than  I  do  perse- 
cution, who  hath  no  ties  and  little  or 
nothing  on  earth  to  lose,  and  if  she 
had  would  willingly  yield  it  a  thou- 
sand times  over  for  to  save  a  soul  for 
whom  Christ  died.     Nor  will  I  have 
you  privy,  my  dear  children,  to  the 
place  of  mine  abode,  that  if  question- 
ed on   it  you   may  with   truth    Jiver 
yourselves    to    be   ignorant    thereof. 
And  now,"  she   said,  turning   to  me, 
••  is  Mr.  Sherwood  willing  for  to  try  to 
(iscapc  by   the  same    means   as  Mr. 
Watson  ?  for  methinks  I  have  found 
a  way  to  convey  to  him  a  cord,  and, 
by    means    of   the    management    he 
knoweth  of  instructions  how  to  use  it." 
"Nay,"  I  answered,    "he  will  not 
himself  avail  himself  of  this  means, 
albeit  he  is  much  rejoiced  you  have  it 
in  hand  for  Mr.  Watson's  deliverance 
from    his  tormentors;   and    he    doth 
pray  fervently  for  it  to  succeed." 

"  Everything  promiseth  well,"  she 
replied.  "I  dealt  this  day  with  an 
honest  Catholic  boatman,  a  servant  of 
Mr.  Hodgson,  who  is  willing  to  assist 
in  it.  Two  men  are  needed  for  to 
row  the  boat  with  so  much  speed  as 
shall  be  necessary  to  carry  it  quick- 
ly beyond  reach  of  pursuers.  Pic 
knoweth  none  of  his  own  craft  which 
should  be  reliable  or  else  disposed  to 
risk  the  enterprise;  but  he  says  at  a 
house  of  resort  for  Catholics  which  he 
doth  frequent,  he  chanced  to  fall  in 
with  a  young  gentleman,  lately  landed 
from  France,  whom  he  doth  make  sure 


will  lend  hi.i  aid  in  it.  As  dextrous  a 
man,"  he  saith,  "to  handle  an  oar, and 
of  as  courageous  a  spirit,  as  can  be 
found  in  England." 

As  soon  as  she  had  uttered  these 
words,  I  thought  of  what  Hubert  had 
said  touching  a  report  of  Basil  being 
in  London  and  of  his  rashness  in 
plunging  into  dangers ;  a  cold  shiver 
ran  through  me.  "  Did  li3  tell  you 
this  gentleman's  name  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  he  would 
not  mention  it;  but  only  that  he  was 
one  who  could  be  trusted  with  the 
lives  of  ten  thousand  persons,  and  so 
zealous  a  Catholic  he  would  any  day 
risk  his  life  to  do  some  good  ocrviLie  to 
a  priest." 

"And  hath  this  boatman  promised," 
I  inquired,  "to  wait  for  Mr.  Watson 
and  convey  him  away  ?" 

"  Yea,  most  strictly, "  she  aiisTvcred, 
"  at  twelve  o'clock  of  the  night  he  and 
his  companion  shall  approach  a"  boat 
to  the  side  of  some  scaffolding  which 
Ueth  under  the  wall  of  the  prison 
and  when  the  clock  of  the  towe* 
striketh,  Mr.  Watson  shall  ope  1  hi. 
window,  the  bars  of  which  lie  hath 
found  it  possible  to  remove,  and  by 
means  of  the  cord,  which  is  of  the 
length  he  measured  should  be  neces- 
sary, he  will  let  himself  down  on  the 
planks,  whence  he  can  step  into  the 
boat,  and  be  carried  to  a  place  of  con- 
cealment in  a  close  part  of  the  city 
till  it  shall  be  convenient  for  him  to 
cross  the  sea  to  France." 

"  Must  you  go  ?"  I  said,  seeing  her 
rise,  and  feeling  a  dull  hard  heaviness 
at  my  heart  which  did  well-nigh  im- 
pede my  utterance.  I  was  not  will- 
ing to  let  her  know  the  fear  I  had 
conceived ;  "  of  what  use  should  it  be," 
I  inwardly  argued,  "  to  disturb  her  in 
the  discharge  of  her  perilous  task  by 
a  surmise  which  might  prove  ground- 
less ;  and,  indeed,  were  it  certainlj 
true,  could  she,  nay,  would  she,  altei 
her  intent,  or  could  I  so  much  as  ask 
her  to  do  it?"  Whilst,  with  Muriel's 
assistance,  she  concluded  the  packing 
of  her  basket,  wherein  the  weighty 
cord  was  concealed  in   an   ingenious 


1 68 


Constance  Sherwood. 


manner,  I  stood  by  -watching  the  do- 
ing of  it,  fearing  to  see  her  depart,  yet 
unable  to  think  of  any  means  by 
Avhich  to  delay  that  which  I  could  not, 
even  if  I  had  willed  it,  prevent. 
When  the  last  contents  were  placed 
in  the  basket,  and  Muriel  was  press- 
ing down  the  lid,  1  said :  "  Do  you, 
perad venture,  know  the  name  of  the 
inn  where  you  said  that  gentleman 
doth  tarry  which  the  boatman  spake 
of?" 

"No,"  she  replied;  "nor  so  much 
as  where  the  good  boatman  himself 
lodgeth.  I  met  with  him  at  Mr. 
Hodgson's  house,  and  there  made  this 
agreement." 

"  But  if,"  I  said,  "  it  should  happen 
by  any  reason  that  Mr.  Watson 
changed  his  mind,  how  should  you, 
then,  inform  him  of  it  ?" 

"  In  that  case,"  she  answered,  "  he 
would  hang  a  white  kerchief  outside 
his  window,  by  which  they  should  be 
advertised  to  withdraw  themselves. 
And  now,"  she  added,  "  I  have  always 
been  of  the  way  of  thinking  that  fare- 
wells should  be  brief;  and  '  God  speed 
you,'  and  '  God  bless  you,'  enough  for 
those  which  do  hope,  if  it  shall  please 
God,  on  earth,  but  for  a  surety  in 
heaven,  to  meet  again." 

So,  kissing  us  both  somewhat  hur- 
riedly, she  took  up  her  basket  on  her 
arm,  and  said  she  shjould  send  a  mes- 
senger on  the  morrow  for  her  clothes  ; 
at  which  Muriel,  for  the  first  time, 
shed  some  tears,  which  was  an  instance 
of  what  I  have  often  noticed,  that 
grief,  howsoever  heavy,  doth  not  al- 
ways overflow  in  the  eyes  unless  some 
familiar  words  or  homely  circumstance 
doth  substantiate  the  verity  of  a  sor- 
row known  indeed,  but  not  wholly  ap- 
parent till  its  common  effects  be  seen. 
Then  we  two  sat  awhile  alone  in  that 
empty  chamber — empty  of  her  which 
for  so  long  years  had  tenanted  it  to 
our  no  small  comfort  and  benefit. 
When  the  light  waned,  Muriel  lit  a 
candle,  and  said  she  must  go  for  to 
attend  on  her  mother,  for  that  duty 
did  now  devolve  chiefly  on  her ;  and  I 
could  see  in  her  sad  but  composed  face 


the  conquering  peace  which  doth  ex- 
ceed all  human  consolation. 

For  mine  own  part,  I  was  so  un- 
hinged by  doubtful  suspense  that  I 
lacked  ability  to  employ  my  mind  in 
reading  or  my  fingers  in  stitch-work  ; 
and  so  descended  for  relief  into  tiie 
garden,  where  I  wandered  to  and  fro 
like  an  uneasy  ghost,  seeking  rest 
but  finding  none.  The  dried  shaking 
leaves  made  a  light  noise  in  falling, 
which  caused  me  each  time  to  think  I 
heard  a  footstep  behind  me.  And  de- 
spite the  increasing  darkness,  after  I 
had  paced  up  and  down  for  near  unto 
an  hour,  some  one  verily  did  come 
walking  along  the  alley  where  I  was, 
seeking  to  overtake  me.  Turning 
round  I  perceived  it  to  be  mine  own 
dear  aged  friend,  Mr.  Roper.  Oh, 
what  great  comfort  I  experienced  in 
the  sight  of  this  good  man  !  How 
eager  was  my  greeting  of  him  !  How 
full  my  heart  as  I  poured  into  hi^  ear 
the  narrative  of  the  passages  which 
had  befallen  me  since  v/e  had  met! 
Of  the  most  weighty  he  knew  some- 
what ;  but  nothing  of  the  last  haunting 
fear  I  had  lest  my  dear  Basil  should 
be  in  London,  and  this  very  night  en- 
gaged in  the  perilous  attempt  to  carry 
off  Mr.  Watson.  When  I  told  him  oF 
it,  he  started  and  exclaimed : 

"  God  defend  it !"  but  quickly  cor- 
rected himself  and  cried,  "  God's  mer- 
cy, that  my  first  feeling  should  have 
led  me  to  think  rather  of  Basil's  safe- 
ty than  of  the  fine  spirit  he  showed  in 
all  instances  where  a  good  action  had 
to  be  done,  or  a  service  rendered  to 
those  in  aflliction." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Roper,"  I  said,  as  he 
led  me  back  to  the  house  and  into  the 
solitary  parlor  (where  my  uncle  now 
seldom  came,  but  remained  sitting 
alone  in  his,  library,  chiefly  engaged 
in  praying  and  reading),  "I  do  con- 
demn mine  own  weakness  in  this,  and 
pray  God  to  give  me  strength  for 
what  may  come  upon  us  ;  but  I  do 
promise  you  'tis  no  easy  matter  to 
carry  always  so  high  a  heart  that  it 
shall  not  sink  with  human  fears  and 
griefs  in  such  passages  as  these." 


Constance  SJierwood. 


169 


"  My  dear,"  the  good  man  answer- 
ed, "  God  knoweth  'tis  no  easy  matter 
to  attain  to  the  courage  you  speak  of. 
I  have  myself  seen  the  sweetest,  the 
lovingest,  and  the  most  brave  creature 
which  ever  did  breathe  give  marks  of 
extraordinary  sorrow  when  her  father, 
that  generous  martyr  of  Christ,  was 
to  die." 

"  I  pray  you  tell  me,"  I  answered, 
"  what  her  behavior  was  like  in  that 
trial ;  for  to  converse  on  such  themes 
doth  allay  somewhat  the  torment  of 
suspense,  and  I  may  learn  lessons 
from  her  example,  who,  you  say,  join- 
ed to  natural  weakness  so  courageous 
a  spirit  in  like  straits." 

Upon  which  he,  willing  to  divert 
and  yet  not  violently  change  the  cur- 
rent of  my  thoughts,  spake  as  fol- 
io we  th  : 

"  On  the  day  when  Sir  Thomas 
More  came  from  Westminster  to  the 
Tower-ward,  my  wife,  desirous  to  see 
her  father,  whom  she  thought  she 
should  never  see  in  this  world  after, 
and  also  to  have  his  final  blessing, 
gave  attendance  about  the  wharf  where 
she  knew  he  should  pass  before  he 
could  enter  into  the  Tower.  As  soon 
as  she  saw  him,  after  his  blessing  up- 
on her  knees  reverently  received, 
hastening  toward  him  without  care  or 
consideration  of  herself,  passing  in 
amongst  the  throng  and  company  of 
the  guard,  she  ran  to  him  and  took 
him  about  the  neck  and  kissed  him ; 
who,  well  liking  her  most  natural  and 
dear  daughterly  affection  toward  him, 
gave  her  his  fatherly  blessing  and 
godly  words  of  comfort  beside  ;  from 
whom,  after  she  was  departed,  not 
satisfied  with  the  former  sight  of  him, 
and  like  one  that  had  forgotten  her- 
self, being  all  ravished  with  the  en- 
tire love  of  her  father,  suddenly  turn- 
ed back  again,  ran  to  him  as  before, 
took  him  about  the  neck,  and  divers 
times  kissed  him  lovingly,  till  at  last, 
with  a  full  and  heavy  heart,  she  was 
fain  to  depart  from  him ;  the  behold- 
ing thereof  was  to  many  that  were 
present  so  lamentable,  and  mostly  so 
to  me,  that  for  very  sorrow  we  could 


not  forbear  to  weep  with  her.  The 
wife  of  John  Harris,  Sir  Thomas's 
secretary,  was  moved  to  such  a  trans- 
port of  grief,  that  slie  suddenly  flew  to 
his  neck  and  kissed  him,  as  he  ha:l 
reclined  his  head  on  his  daughter's 
shoulder ;  and  lie  who,  in  the  midst 
of  the  greatest  straits,  had  ever  a 
merry  manner  of  speaking,  cried, 
*  This  is  kind,  albeit  rather  unpolitelvr 
done.' " 

"  And  the  day  he  suffered/'  I  asked, 
"what  was  this  good  daughter's  be- 
havior ?" 

"She  went,"  quoth  he,  "to  the  dif- 
ferent churches,  and  distributed  abun- 
dant alms  to  the  poor.  When  she  had 
given  all  her  money  away,  she  with- 
drew to  pray  in  a  certain  church, 
where  she  on  a  sudden  did  remember 
she  had  no  linen  in  which  to  wrap  ujv 
her  father's  body.  Slie  had  heard 
that  the  remains  of  the  Bishop  of 
Rochester  had  been  thrown  into  th? 
ground,  without  priest,  cross,  lights,  oi* 
shroud,  for  the  dread  of  the  king  had 
prevented  his  relations  from  attomp:- 
ing  to  bury  him.  But  Margaret  re- 
solved her  father's  body  should  not 
meet  with  such  unchristian  treatment. 
Her  maid  advised  her  to  buy  some 
linen  in  the  next  shop,  albeit  having 
given  away  all  her  money  to  the  poor, 
there  was  no  likelihood  she  should  get 
credit  from  strangers.  She  ventured, 
howsoever,  and  having  agreed  about 
the  price,  she  put  her  hand  in  her 
pocket,  which  she  knew  was  empty, 
to  show  she  forgot  the  money,  and  ask 
credit  under  that  pretence.  But  to 
her  surprise,  she  found  in  her  purse 
the  exact  price  of  the  linen,  neither 
more  or  less  ;  and  so  buried  the  mar- 
tyr of  Christ  with  honor,  nor  was 
there  any  one  so  inhuman  found  as  to 
hinder  her." 

"  Mr.  Roper,"  I  said,  when  he  had 
ended  his  recital,  "  methinks  this  an- 
gelic lady's  trial  was  most  hard  :  bu 
how  much  harder  should  it  yet  have 
been  if  you,  her  husband,  had  been 
in  a  like  peril  at  that  time  as  her 
father?" 

A  half  kind   of    melancholy,    half 


I/O 


Constance  Sherwood. 


smiling  look  came  into  the  good  old 
man's  face  as  he  answered : 

"  Her  father  was  Sir  Thomas  More, 
and  he  so  worthy  of  a  daughter's  pas- 
sionate love,  and  the  aiffection  betwixt 
them  so  entire  and  absolute,  com- 
pounded of  filial  love  on  her  part,  un- 
mitigated reverence,  and  unrestrain^ed 
confidence,  that  there  was  left  in  her 
heart  no  great  space  for  wifely  doat- 
ing.  But  to  be  moderately  affectioned 
by  such  a  woman,  and  to  stand  next 
in  her  esteem  to  her  incomparable 
father,  was  of  greater  honor  and  worth 
to  her  unworthy  husband,  than  should 
have  been  the  undivided,  yea  idola- 
trous, love  of  one  not  so  perfect  as 
herself." 

After  a  pause,  during  whicli  his 
tlioughts,  I  ween,  reverted  to  the  past, 
and  mine  investigated  mine  own  soul, 
I  said  to  Mr.  Roper  : 

"  Think  you,  sir,  that  love  to  be 
idolatrous  which  is  indeed  so  absolute 
that  it  should  be  no  difficulty  to  die  for 
him  who  doth  inspire  it ;  which  would 
prefer  a  prison  in  his  company,  how- 
soever dark  and  loathsome  (yea  con- 
sider it  a  very  paradise),  to  the  beau- 
tifullest  palace  in  the  world,  which 
without  him  would  seem  nothing  but  a 
vile  dungeon ;  which  should  with  a 
good-will  suffer  all  the  torments  in  the 
world  for  to  see  the  object  of  its  affec- 
tion enjoy  good  men's  esteem  on  earth, 
and  a  noble  place  in  heaven ;  but 
which  should  be,  nevertheless,  founded 
and  so  wholly  built  up  on  a  high  esti- 
mate of  his  virtues ;  on  the  quality 
he  holdeth  of  God's  servant ;  on  the 
likeness  of  Christ  stamped  on  his 
soul,  and  each  day  exemplified  in  his 
manner  of  living,  that  albeit  to  lose 
his  love  or  his  company  in  this  world 
should  be  like  the  uprooting  of  all  hap- 
piness and  turning  the  brightness  of 
noonday  to  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
it  should  a  thousand  times  rather  en- 
dure this  mishap  than  that  the  least 
shade  or  approach  of  a  stain  should 
alter  the  unsullied  opinion  till  then 
lield  of  his  perfections  ?" 

Mr.  Roper  smiled,  and  said  that 
was  a  too  weighty  question  to  answer 


at  once ;  foi  he  shoidd  be  loth  to  con- 
demn or  yet  altogether  to  absolve  from 
some  degree  of  overweeningness  such 
an  affection  as  I  described,  which  did 
seem  indeed  to  savor  somewhat  of 
excess  ;  but  yet  if  noble  in  its  uses 
and  held  in  subjection  to  the  higher 
claims  of  the  Creator,  whose  perfec 
tions  the  creature  doth  at  best  only 
imperfectly  mirror,  it  might  be  com- 
mendable and  a  means  of  attaining 
ourselves  to  the  like  virtues  we  dodted 
on  in  another. 

As  he  did  utter  these  words  a  ser- 
vant came  into  the  parlor,  and  whis- 
pered in  mine  ear : 

"  Master  Basil  Rookwood  is  outside 
the  door,  and  craves — " 

I  suffered  him  not  to  finish  his 
speech,  but  bounded  into  the  hall,  where 
Basil  was  indeed  standing  with  a  trav- 
eller's cloak  on  him,  and  a  slouched 
hat  over  his  face.  After  such  a  greet- 
ing as  may  be  conceived  (alas,  all 
greetings  then  did  seem  to  combine 
strange  admixtures  of  joy  and  pain  !), 
I  led  him  into  the  parlor,  where  Mr. 
Roper  in  his  turn  received  him  with 
fatherly  words  of  kindness  mixed  with 
amazement  at  his  return. 

"  Anil  whence,"  he  exclaimed,  "  so 
sudden  a  coming,  my  good  Basil? 
Verily,  you  do  appear  to  have  de- 
scended from  the  skies !" 

Basil  looked  &t  me  and  replied : 
"  I  heard  in  Paris,  Mr.  Roper,  that  a 
gentleman  in  whom  I  do  take  a  very 
lively  interest,  one  Mr.  Tunstall,  was 
in  prison  at  London ;  and  I  bethought 
me  I  could  be  of  some  service  to  him 
by  coming  over  at  this  time." 

"O  Basil,"  I  cried,  "do  you  the:i 
know  he  is  my  father?" 

"  Yea,"  he  joyfully  answered,  '•  and 
I  am  right  glad  you  do  know  it  also, 
for  then  there  is  no  occasion  for  any 
feigning,  which,  albeit  I  deny  it  not  to 
be  sometimes  useful  and  necessary, 
doth  so  ill  agree  with  my  bluntness, 
that  it  keepeth  me  in  constant  fear  of 
stumbling  in  my  speech.  I  was  in  a 
manner  forced  to  come  over  secretly  ; 
because  if  Sir  Henry  Stafford,  who 
Willeth  mo  to  remain  abroad  till  I  have 


Constance  Sherwood. 


171 


got  out  of  my  wardship,  sliouLl  hear 
of  my  being  in  London,  and  gain 
scent  of  the  object  of  my  coming,  he 
Hhould  liave  dealt  in  all  sorts  of  ways 
to  send  me  out  of  it.  But,  prithee, 
dearest  love,  is  Mrs.  Ward  in  this 
liousc  ?" 

■'  Alas  I"  I  said,  "  she  is  gone  hence. 
Her  mind  is  set  on  a  very  dangerous 
vvnterprise." 

"I  know  it,"  he  saith  (at  which 
word  my  heart  began  to  sink)  ;  "  but, 
verily,  I  see  not  much  danger  to  be  in 
it ;  and  methinks  if  we  do  succeed  in 
carrying  off  your  good  father  and  that 
other  priest  to-night  in  the  ingenious 
manner  she  hath  devised,  it  will  be  the 
best  night's  work  done  by  good  heads, 
good  arms,  and  good  oars  which  can 
be  thought  of." 

"  Oh,  then,"  I  exclaimed,  "it  is  even 
as  I  feared,  and  you,  Basil,  have  en- 
gaged in  this  rash  enterprise.  O  woe 
the  day  you  came  to  London,  and  met 
with  that  boatman !" 

"  Constance,"  he  said  reproachfully, 
'•  should  it  be  a  woful  day  to  thee  the 
one  on  which,  even  at  some  great  risk, 
which  I  deny  doth  exist  in  this  in- 
stance, I  should  aid  in  thy  father's 
rescue  ?" 

"  Oh,  but,  my  dear  Basil,"  I  cried, 
"  he  doth  altogether  refuse  to  stir  in 
this  matter.  I  have  had  speech  with 
him  to-day,  and  he  will  by  no  means 
attempt  to  escape  again  from  prison. 
He  hath  done  it  once  for  the  sake  of  a 
soul  in  jeopardy ;  but  only  to  save  his 
life,  he  is  resolved  not  to  involve 
others  in  peril  of  theirs.  And  oh,  how 
confirmed  he  would  be  in  his  purpose 
if  he  knew  who  it  was  who  doth  throw 
himself  into  so  great  a  risk  !  I'  faith, 
I  cannot  and  will  not  suffer  it !"  I  ex- 
claimed impetuously,  for  the  sudden 
joy  of  his  presence,  the  sight  of  his 
beloved  countenance,  lighted  up  with 
an  inexpressible  look  of  love  and  kind- 
ness, more  beautiful  than  my  poor 
wordti  can  describe,  worked  in  me  a 
rebellion  against  the  thought  of  more 
suffering,  further  parting,  greater  fears 
than  I  had  hitherto  sustained. 

He  said,  "  He  could  wish  my  &ther 


had  been  otncr-vlss  disposed,  for  ta 
have  aided  in  hl3  escape  should  hr.vo 
beea  to  him  the  greatest  joy  he  could 
think  of;  but  that  having  promised 
likewise  to  assist  in  Mr.  VYatsoji's 
flight,  he  would  never  fliil  to  do  so,  if 
he  was  to  die  for  it." 

'•  'Tis  very  easy,"  I  cried,  '•  to  spoak 
of  dying,  Basil,  nor  do  I  doubt  tliat 
to  one  of  your  courage  and  faith  the 
doing  of  it  should  have  nothing  very 
terrible  in  it.  But  I  pray  you  remera- 
ber  that  that  life,  which  you  make  so 
little  account  of,  is  not  now  yours 
alone  to  dispose  of  as  you  list.  Mlnj, 
dear  Basil,  is  wrapped  up  with  it ;  for 
if  I  lose  you,  I  care  not  to  live,  or 
what  becomes  of  me,  any  more." 

Mr.  Roper  said  he  should  think  0:1 
it  well  before  he  made  this  venture  ; 
for,  as  I  had  truly  urged,  I  had  a  right 
over  him  now,  and  he  should  not  dis- 
pose of  himself  aa  one  wholly  free 
might  do. 

"Dear  sir,"  quoth  ho  i:i  answer, 
"my  sweet  Constance  and  you  alio 
might  perhaps  have  prevailed  with  mo 
some  hours  ago  to  forego  this  inten- 
tion, before  I  had  given  a  promise  to 
Mr.  Hodgson's  boatman,  and  through 
him  to  Mistress  Ward  and  Mr.  Wat- 
son ;  I  should  then  have  been  free  to 
refuse  my  assistance  if  I  had  listed ; 
and  albeit  methinks  in  so  doing  I 
should  have  played  a  pitiful  part,  none; 
could  justly  have  condemned  me.  But 
I  am  assured  neither  her  great  heart 
nor  your  honorable  spirit  would  de- 
sire me  so  much  as  to  place  in  doubt 
the  fulfilment  of  a  promise  wherein 
the  safety  of  a  man,  and  he  one  of 
God's  priests,  is  concerned.  I  pray 
thee,  sweetheart,  say  thou  wouldst  not 
have  me  do  it." 

Alas !  this  was  the  second  time  that 
day  my  poor  heart  had  been  called 
upon  to  raise  itself  higher  than  nature 
can  afford  to  reach.  But  the  present 
struggle  was  harder  than  the  first. 
My  father  had  long  been  to  me  as  a 
distant  angel,  severed  from  my  daily 
life  and  any  future  hope  in  this  world. 
His  was  an  expectant  martyrdom,  an 
exile  from  his  true  home,  a  daily  dy- 


i;2 


Constance  Shcrzaood. 


ing  on  earth,  tending  hut  to  one  do- 
sii-ed  end.  Nature  could  be  more 
easily  reconciled  in  the  one  case  than 
in  the  other  to  thoughts  of  parting. 
Basil  was  my  all,  my  second  self,  my 
sole  treasure, — the  prop  on  which 
rested  youth's  hopes,  earth's  joys, 
life's  sole  comfort;  and  chance  (as  it 
seemed,  and  men  would  have  called 
it),  not  a  determined  seeking,  had 
thrust  on  him  this  danger,  and  I  must 
needs  see  him  plunged  into  it,  and  not 
so  much  as  say  a  word  to  stay  him  or 
prevent  it I  was  striv- 
ing to  constrain  my  lips  to  utter  the 
words  my  rebelling  heart  disavowed, 
and  he  kneeling  before  me,  with  his 
dear  eyes  fixed  on  mine,  awaiting  my 
consent,  when  a  loud  noise  of  laugh- 
ter in  the  hall  caused  us  botk  to  start 
up,  and  then  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Kate  and  Polly  ran  into 
the  room  so  gaily  attired,  the  one  in  a 
yellow  and  the  other  in-  a  crimson 
gown  bedecked  with  lace  and  jewels, 
that  nothing  finer  could  be  seen. 

"  Lackaday ! "  Polly  cried,  when 
she  perceived  Basil ;  "  who  have  we 
here  ?  I  scarce  can  credit  mine  eyes  ! 
Why ,  Sir  Lover,  methought  you  were 
in  France.  By  what  magic  come  you 
here  ?  Mr.  Roper,  your  humble  ser- 
vant. 'Tis  like  you  did  not  expect 
so  much  good  company  to-night,  Con, 
for  you  have  but  one  poor  candle  or 
two  to  light  up  this  dingy  room,  and 
I  fear  there  will  not  be  light  enough 
for  these  gentlemen  to  see  our  fine 
dresses,  which  we  do  wear  for  the 
first  time  at  Mrs,  Yates's  house  this 
evening.'* 

"  I  thought  you  were  both  in  the 
country,"  I  said,  striving  to  disguise 
how  much  their  coming  did  discom- 
pose me. 

"  Methinks,"  answered  Polly,  laugh- 
ing," your  wish  was  father  to  that 
thought,  Con,  and  that  you  desired 
to  have  the  company  of  this  fine 
gentleman  to  yourself  alone,  and  Mr. 
Roper's  also,  and  no  one  else  for  to 
disturb  you.  But,  in  good  sooth,  we 
were  both  at  Mr.  Benham's  seat  in 
Berkshire  wlien  we  heard  of  this  good 


entertainment  at  so  great  a  friend's 
house,  and  so  prevailed  on  our  lords 
and  governors  for  to  hire  a  coach  and 
bring  us  to  London  for  one  night. 
We  lie  ai;  Kate's  house,  and  she  and  I 
have  supped  on  a  cold  capon  and  a 
veal  pie  we  brought  with  us,  and  Sir 
Ralph  and  Mr.  Lacy  do  sup  at  a  tav- 
ern in  the  Strand,  and  shall  fetch  us 
here  when  it  shall  be  convenient  to 
them  to  carry  us  to  this  grand  ball, 
which  I  would  not  have  missed,  no, 
not  for  all  the  world.  So  I  pray  you 
let  us  be  merry  till  they  do  come,  and 
pass  the  time  pleasantly." 

"  Ay,"  said  Kate,  in  a  lamentable 
voice,  "  you  would  force  me  to  dress 
and  go  abroad,  when  I  would  sooner 
be  at  home ;  for  John's  stomach  is 
disordered,  and  baby  doth  cut  her 
teeth,  and  he  pulled  at  my  ribbons 
and  said  I  should  not  leave  him  ;  and 
beshrew  me  if  I  would  have  done 
so,  but  for  your  overpersuading  mc. 
But  you  arc  always  so  absolute !  I 
wonder  vou  love  not  more  to  stay  sit 
home,  Polly." 

Basil  smiled  with  a  better  hoart 
than  I  could  do,  and  said  he-  Avould 
promise  her  John  should  sleep  never 
the  less  well  for  her  absence,  and  she 
should  find  baby's  tooth  through  on 
the  morrow  ;  and  sitting  down  by  her 
side,  talked  to  her  of  her  children 
with  a  kindliness  which  never  did  for- 
sake him.  Mr.  Roper  set  himself  to 
converse  with  Polly ;  I  ween  for  to 
shield  me  from  tlie  torrent  of  her 
words,  which,  as  I  sat  between  them, 
seemed  to  buzz  in  mine  ear  without 
any  meaning;  and  yet  I  must  needs 
have  heard  them,  for  to  this  day  I  re- 
member what  they  talked  cf; — that 
Polly  said,  "  Have  you  seen  the  inge- 
nious poesy  which  the  queen's  saucy 
godson,  the  merry  wit  Harrington, 
left  behind  her  cushion  on  Wednes- 
day, and  now  'tis  in  every  one's 
hands?" 

"  Not  in  mine,"  quoth  Mr.  Roper ; 
"  80,  if  your  memory  doth  serve  you. 
Lady  Ingoldsby,  will  you  rehearse 
it  ? "  which  she  did  as  follows ;  and 
albeit   I   only   did    hear    tliosc    lines 


Constance  Sherwood. 


'^73 


ihaL   oiico,  tlicy  still   remain    i:i   my 
mind : 

'•  For  ever  dear,  for  ever  dreaded  prince, 
You  read  a  verse  of  mine  a  little  since, 
And  so  pronounced  each  word  and  everj'  letter, 
Your  gracious  reading  graced  my    verse  the 

better  ; 
Sith  then  your  highness  doth  by  gift  exceeding 
Make  what  you  read  the  better  lor  your  read- 

Let  ray  poor  muse  your  pains  thus  far  im- 
portune, 

Like  as  you  read  my  verse— so  read  my  for- 
tune !" 

•'  'Tis  an  artful  and  witty  petition," 
Mr.  Roper  observed ;  "  but  I  have 
been  told  her  majesty  raislikes  the 
poet's  satirical  writings,  and  chiefly 
the  metamorphosis  of  Ajax." 

"  She  signified,"  Polly  answered, 
*'  some  outward  displeasure  at  it,  but 
Robert  Markham  affirms  she  likes 
well  the  marrow  of  the  book,  and  is 
minded  to  take  the  author  to  her 
favor,  but  sweareth  she  believes  he 
will  make  epigrams  on  her  and  all 
her  court.  Howsoever,  I  do  allow 
she  conceived  much  disquiet  on  being 
told  he  had  aimed  a  shaft  at  Leices- 
ter. By  the  way,  but  you,  cousin 
Constance,  should  best  know  tiie  truth 
thereon"  (this  she  said  turning  to  me), 
"'tis  said  that  Lord  Arundel  is  ex- 
ceeding sick  again,  and  like  to  die 
very  soon.  Indeed  his  physicians  are 
of  opinion,  so  report  speaketh,  that  he 
will  not  last  many  days  now,  for  as 
often  as  he  hath  rallied  before." 

"  Yesterday,"  I  said,  "  when  I  saw 
Lady  Surrey,  he  was  no  worse  than 
usual." 

"  Oh,  have  you  heard,"  Polly  cried, 
running  from  one  theme  to  another,  as 
was  her  wont,  "  that  Leicester  is  about 
to  marry  Lettice  Knollys,  my  Lady 
Essex?" 

"  'Tis  impossible,"  Basil  exclaimed, 
who  was  now  listening  to  her  speeches, 
for  Kate  had  finished  her  discourse 
touching  her  Johnny's  disease  in  his 
stomach.  The  cause  thereof,  she 
said,  both  herself  thought,  and  all  in 
Mr.  Benham's  house  did  judge  to 
have  been,  the  taking  in  the  morning 
a  confection  of  barley  sodden  with 
water  and  sugar,  and  made  exceeding 
thick  with  bread.     This  breakfast  lost 


him  both  his  dinner  and  supper,  and 
siirelv  the  better  half  of  his  sleep; 
but  God  be  thanked,  she  hoped  now 
the  worst  was  past,  and  that  the  dear 
urchin  would  shortly  be  as  merry  and 
well-disposed  as  afore  he  left  London 
Basil  said  he  hoped  so  too ;  and  in  a 
pause  which  ensued,  he  heard  Polly 
speak  of  Lord  Leicester's  intended 
marriage,  which  seemed  to  move  him 
to  some  sort  of  indignation,  the  (;ause 
of  which  I  only  learnt  many  yeara 
later;  for  that  when  Lady  Douglaa 
Howard's  cause  came  before  the  Star- 
Chamber,  in  his  present  majesty's 
reign,  he  told  me  he  had  been  privy, 
through  information  received  in 
France,  of  her  secret  marriage  with 
that  lord. 

"  'Tis  not  impossible,"  Polly  retort- 
ed, "  by  the  same  token  that  the  new 
favorite,  young  Robert  Devereux,mak- 
eth  no  concealment  of  it,  and  calleth 
my  Lord  Leicester  his  father  elect. 
But  I  pray  you,  what  is  impossible  in 
these  days  ?  Oh,  I  think  they  are  tho 
most  whimsical,  entertaining  day 
which  the  world  hath  ever  known ; 
and  the  merriest,  if  people  have  a  will 
to  make  them  so." 

"  Oh,  Polly,"  I  cried,  unable  to  re- 
strain myself,  '•  I  pray  God  you  may 
never  find  cause  to  change  your  mind 
thereon." 

"Yea,  amen  to  that  prayer,"  quoth 
she;  "I'll  promise  you,  my  grave  little 
coz,  that  I  have  no  mind  to  be  sad  till 
I  grow  old — ^and  there  be  yet  some 
years  to  come  before  that  shall  befall 
me.  When  Mistress  Helen  Ingolds- 
by  shall  reach  to  the  height  of  ray 
shoulder,  then,  methinks,  I  may  begin 
to  take  heed  unto  my  ways.  WhaE; 
think  you  the  little  wench  said  to  mc 
yesterday  ?  '  What  times  is  it  we  do 
conform  to,  mother?  dinner-times  or 
bed-times  ?  '  "  "  She  should  have  been 
answered,  '  The  devil's  times,' "  Basil 
muttered ;  and  Kate  told  Polly  she 
should  be  ashamed  to  speak  in  her 
father's  house  of  the  conformity  she 
practised  when  others  were  suffering 
for  their  religion.  And,  methought, 
albeit  I  had  scarcely  endured  the  jest- 


174 


Constance  Sherioood. 


ing   which   head   preceded  it,  I  could 
less  bear  any  talk  of  religion,  least- 
Avays  of  that  kind,  just  then.      But,  in 
sooth,  the  constraint  I  suffered  almost 
overpassed  my  strength.     There  ap- 
peared no  hope  of  their  going,   and 
they  fell  into  an  eager  discourse  con- 
cerning the  bear-baitiuj^  th.ey  had  been 
to  see  in  Berkshire,  and  a  great  sort 
of  ban-dogs,  which  had  been  tied  in 
an  outer  court,  let  loose  on  thirteen 
bears  that  were  baited  in  the  inner  ; 
and  my  dear  Basil,  Avho  doth  delight 
in  all  kinds  of  sports,  listened  eagerly 
to  the  description  they  gave  of  this 
diversion.      Oh,  how  I    counted    the 
minutes  !  what  a   pressure   weighted 
my   heart!   how   the   sound   of  their 
voices  pained  mine  ears  !  how  long  an 
hour  seemed!  and  yet  too  short   for 
my  desires,  for  I  feared  the  time  must 
soon  come  when  Basil  should  go,  and 
lamented   that  these  unthinking  wo- 
men's tarrying  should  rob  me  of  all 
possibility   to   talk     with   him   alone. 
Howsoever,  when  Mr.  Roper  rose  to 
depart,  I  followed  him  into  the  hall 
and  waited  near  the  door  for  Basil, 
who  was  bidding  farewell  to  Kate  and 
Polly.     I   heard  him  beseech  them  to 
do  him  so  much  favor  as  not  to  men- 
tion they  had  seen  him;  for  that  he 
had  not  informed  Sir  Henry  Stafford 
of  his  coming  over  from  France,  which 
if  he  heard  of  it  otherwise  than  from 
himself,  it  should  peradventure  offend 
him.     They  laughed,  and  promised  to 
be  as   silent  as  graves  thereon ;  and 
Polly  said  he  had  learnt  French  fash- 
ions she  perceived,  and  taken  lessons 
in   wooing  from   mounseer ;  but   she 
hoped  his  stealthy  visit  should  in  the 
end  prove  more  comforraable  to  his  de- 
sires than  mounseer's  had  done.     At 
last  they  let  him  go ;  and  Mr.  Roper, 
who  had  waited   for  him,  wrung  his 
hand,  and  the  manner  of  his  doing  it 
made  my  eyes  overflow.    I  turned  my 
face  away,  but  Basil  caught  both  my 
hands  in  his  and  said,  "  Be  of  good 
cheer,  sweetheart.      I  have  not  words 
wherewith  to  express  how  much  I  love 
thee,   but    God  knoweth   it  is   very 
dearly." 


"  O  Basil !  mine  own  dear  Basil,"  I 
murmured,  laying  my  forehead  on  his 
coat-sleeve,  and  could  not  then  utter 
another  word.  Ere  I  lifted  it  again, 
the  hall-door  opened,  and  w^io,  I  pray 
you,  should  I  then  see  (with  more  af- 
fright, I  confess,  than  was  reasonable) 
but  Hubert?  My  voice  shook  as  1 
said  to  Basil,  whose  back  was  turn 
ed  from  the  door,  "Here  is  your 
brother." 

"  Ah,  Hubert !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  1 
be  glad  to  see  thee !"  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  him  with  a  frank  smile,  which 
the  other  took,  but  in  the  doing  of  it 
a  deadly  paleness  spread  over  his 
face. 

"  I  have  no  leisure  to  tarry  so  much 
as  one  minute,"  Basil  said ;  "  but  this 
sweet  lady  will  tell  thee  what  weighty 
reasons  I  have  for  presently  remain- 
ing concealed ;  and  so  farewell,  my 
dear  love,  and  farewell,  my  good 
brother.  Be,  I  pray  you,  my  bedes- 
woman  this  night,  Constance  ;  and  you 
too,  Hubert, — ^if  you  do  yet  say  your 
prayers  like  a  good  Christian,  which  1 
pray  God  you  do, — mind  you  say  au 
ave  for  me  before  you  sleep."  ■ 

When  the  door  closed  on  him  I 
sunk  down  on  a  chair,  and  hid  my 
face  with  my  hands. 

"  You  have  not  told  him  anything  ?" 
Hubert  whispered ;  and  I,  "  God  help 
you,  Hubert !  he  hath  come  to  London 
for  this  very  matter,  and  hath  already, 
I  fear,  albeit  not  in  any  way  that 
shall  advantage  my  father,  yet  in  seek- 
ing to  assist  him,  run  himself  into 
danger  of  death,  or  leastways  banish- 
ment." 

As  I  said  this  mine  eyes  raised 
themselves  toward  him  ;  and  I  would 
they  had  not,  for  I  saw  in  his  visage 
an  expression  I  have  tried  these  many 
years  to  forget,  but  which  sometimes 
even  now  comes  back  to  me  painfully. 
''  I  told  you  so,"  he  answered. 
"He  hath  an  invariable  aptness  to 
miss  his  aim,  and  to  hurt  himself  by 
the  shafts  he  looseth.  What  plan 
hath  he  now  formed,  and  Avhat  shall 
come  of  it  ?" 

But,  somewhat  recovered  from  my 


Constance  Sherwood, 


175 


surprise,  I  betliought  myself  it  should 
not  be  prudent,  albeit  I  grieved  to 
think  so,  to  let  him  know  what  sort  of 
enterprise  it  was  Basil  had  in  hand ; 
80  I  did  evade  his  question,  which  in- 
deed he  did  not  show  himself  very 
careful  to  have  answered.  He  said 
he  was  yet  dealing  with  Sir  Francis 
Walsingham,  and  had  hopes  of  success 
touching  my  father's  liberation,  and  so 
prayed  me  not  to  yield  to  despondency ; 
but  it  would  take  time  to  bring  mat- 
ters to  a  successful  issue,  and  patience 
was  greatly  needed,  and  Hkewise  pru- 
dence toward  that  end.  He  request- 
ed me  very  urgently  to  take  no  other 
steps  for  the  present  in  his  benalf, 
which  might  ruin  all.  And  above  all 
things  not  to  suffer  Basil  to  come  for- 
ward in  it,  for  that  he  had  made  him- 
self obnoxious  to  Sir  Francis  by 
speeches  which  he  had  used,  and 
which  some  one  had  reported  to  him, 
touching  Lady  Ridley's  compliance 
with  his  (Sir  Francis's)  request  that 
she  should  have  a  minister  in  her 
house  for  to  read  Protestant  prayers 
to  her  household,  albeit  herself,  being 
bedridden,  did  not  attend ;  and  if  he 
should  now  stir  in  this  matter,  all  hope 
would  be  at  an  end.  So  he  left  me, 
and  I  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  Kate 
and  Polly  declared  my  behavior  to 
them  not  to  be  over  and  above  civil ; 
but  they  supposed  when  folks  were  in 
love,  they  had  a  warrant  to  treat  their 
friends  as  they  pleased.  Then  finding 
me  very  dull  and  heavy,  I  ween,  they 
bethought  themselves  at  ihe  last  of 
going  to  visit  their  mother  in  her  bed, 
and  paying  their  respects  to  their  fa- 
ther, whom  they  found  asleep  in  his 
chair,  his  prayer-book,  v/ith  which  he 
was  engaged  most  of  the  day,  lying 
open  by  his  side.  Polly  kissed  his 
forehead,  and  then  the  picture  of  our 
Blessed  Lady  in  the  first  page  of  this 
much-used  volume ;  which  sudden 
acts  of  hers  comforted  me  not  a  little. 
Muriel  came  out  of  her  mother's 
chamber  to  greet  tliem,  but  would  not 
suffer  them  to  see  her  at  this  unex- 
pected time,  for  that  the  least  change 
in   her  customable   habits  disordered 


her;  and  then  whispered  to  me  that 
she  had  often  asked  for  Mistress 
Ward,  and  complained  of  her  absence. 

At  the  last  Sir  Ralph  came,  but  not 
Mr.  Lacy,  who  he  said  was  tired  witii 
his  long  ride,  and  had  gone  home  to 
bed.  Thereupon  Kate  began  to  weep ; 
for  she  said  she  would  not  go  withou: 
him  to  this  fine  ball,  for  it  was  an  un- 
becoming thing  for  a  woman  to  h<' 
seen  abroad  when  her  husband  was  at 
home,  and  a  thing  she  had  not  yet 
done,  nor  did  intend  to  do.  But  that 
it  was  a  very  hard  thing  she  should 
have  been  at  the  pains  to  dress  her- 
self so  handsomely,  and  not  so  mucii 
as  one  person  to  see  her  in  this  fine 
suit ;  and  she  wished  she  had  not  been 
so  foolish  as  to  be  persuaded  to  it,  and 
that  Polly  was  very  much  to  blame 
therein.  At  the  which,  "  V  faith,  I 
think  so  too,"  Polly  exclaimed  ;  "  a:id 
I  wish  you  had  stayed  in  the  country, 
my  dear." 

Kate's  pitiful  visage  and  whinefal 
complaint  moved  me,  in  my  then  ap- 
prehensive humor,  to  an  unmerry  bat 
not  to  be  resisted  fit  of  laughter,  which 
she  did  very  much  resent ;  but  I  must 
have  laughed  or  died,  and  yet  it  m.iic 
me  angry  to  hear  her  utter  such  la- 
mentations who  had  no  true  cause  for 
displeasure. 

When  they  were  gone, — she,  still 
shedding  tears,  in  a  chair  Sir  Ralph 
sent  for  to  convey  her  to  Gray's  Inn 
Lane,  and  he  and  Polly  in  their 
coach  to  Mrs.  Yates's, — the  relief  I 
had  from  their  absence  proved  so 
great  that  at  first  it  did  seem  to  ease 
my  heart.  I  went  slowly  up  to  mine 
own  chamber,  and  stood  there  a  while 
at  the  casement  looking  at  the  quiet 
sky  above  and  the  unquiet  city  beneath 
it,  and  chiefly  in  the  distant  direction 
where  I  knew  the  prison  to  be,  pictur- 
ing to  myself  my  father  in  his  barti 
cell.  Mistress  Ward  regaining  her  ob- 
scure lodging,  Mr.  Watson's  danger- 
ous descent,  and  mostly  the  boat  which 
Basil  was  to  row,— that  boat  freight- 
ed with  so  perilous  a  burthen.  These 
scenes  seemed  to  rise  before  mine 
eyes  as  I  remained  motionless,  strain- 


176 


Constance  Sherwood. 


ing  their  sight  to  pierce  the  darkness 
of  the  night  and  of  the  fog  which 
hung  over  the  town.  When  the  clock 
struck  twelve,  a  shiver  ran  through 
me,  for  I  thought  of  the  like  striking 
at  Lynn  Court,  and  what  had  follow- 
ed. Uj)on  which  I  betook  myself  to 
my  prayers,  and  thinking  on  Basil, 
said,  ''  Speak  for  him,  0  Blessed  Vir- 
gin Mary !  Entreat  for  him,  O  ye 
a])ostles  !  Make  intercession  for  him, 
all  ye  martyrs  !  Pray  for  him,  all  ye 
confessors  and  all  ye  company  of  hea- 
ven, that  my  prayers  for  him  may 
take  effect  before  our  Lord  Jesus 
( Hirist !"  Then  my  head  w\axed  heavy 
with  sleep,  and  I  sank  cm  the  cushion 
of  my  kueeling-stool.  I  wot  not  for 
how  many  hours  I  slumbered  in  this 
wise  ;  but  I  know  I  had  some  terrible 
dreams. 

When  I  awoke  it  was  daylight.  A 
loud  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  house 
had  aroused  me.  Before  I  had  well 
])ethought  me  where  I  was,  Muriel's 
wliite  face  appeared  at  my  door.  The 
])ursuivants,  she  said,  were  come  to 
seek  for  Mistress  Ward. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Mr  first  thought,  when  Muriel  had 
announced  to  me  the  coming  of  the 
}>ursuivauts  in  search  of  Mistress 
Ward,  was  to  thank  God  she  was  be- 
yond their  reach,  and  with  so  much 
prudence  had  left  us  in  ignorance  of 
lier  abode.  Then  making  haste  to 
dross— for  I  apprehended  these  offi- 
(^ers  should  visit  every  chamber  In  the 
house — I  quickly  repaired  to  my  aunt's 
room,  w^ho  was  persuaded  by  Muriel 
that  they  had  sent  for  to  take  an  in- 
ventory of  the  furniture,  which  she 
said  was  a  very  commendable  thing 
to  do,  but  she  wished  they  had  waited 
until  such  time  as  she  had  had  her 
breakfast.  By  an  especial  mercy,  it 
so  happened  that  these  officers— or, 
h^astways,  two  out  of  three  of  them — 
were  quiet,  well-disposed  men,  who 
^'xercised  their  office  with  as  much 
mildness  as  could  be  hoped  for,  and 
rather  diminished  by  their  behavior 
than  in  any  way  increased  the  hard- 
ships of  this  invasion  of  domestic  pri- 
vacy. We  were  all  in  turn  questioned 
touching  Mistress  Ward's  abode,  ex- 
cept my  aunt,  whoso  mental  inlirmity 


was  pleaded  for  to  exempt  her  from 
this  ordeal.  The  one  officer  who  was 
churlish  said,  'Uf  the  lady's  mind  be 
unsound,  'tis  most  like  she  will  let  the 
cat  out  of  the  bag,"  and  would  havo 
forced  questions  on  her;  but  the 
others  forcibly  restrained  him  from  it, 
and  likewise  from  openly  insulting  us, 
when  we  denied  all  knowledge  of  the 
place  she  had  resorted  to.  Howso- 
ever, he  vented  his  displeasure  in 
scornful  looks  and  cutting  speeches. 
They  carried  away  sundry  prayer- 
books,  and  notably  the  ''  Spiritual 
Combat,"  which  I^Irs.  Engerfield  had 
gifted  me  with,  w^hen  I  slept  at  her 
house  at  Northampton,  the  loss  of 
which  grieved  mo  not  a  little,  but  yet 
not  so  much  as  it  w^ould  have  done  at 
another  time,  for  my  thoughts  were 
then  wholly  set  on  discovering  who 
had  betrayed  Mistress  Ward's  inter- 
vention, and  what  had  been  Mr.  Wat- 
son's fate,  and  if  ]5asil  also  had  been 
implicated.  I  addressed  myself  to  the 
most  seemly  of  the  three  men,  and 
asked  him  what  her  offense  had  been. 

^' She  assisted,"  he  answered,  ^Mn 
the  escape  of  a  x:)risoner  from  Bride- 
well." 

''  In  what  manner  ?"  I  said,  with  so 
much  of  indifferency  as  i  could  as- 
sume. 

'^By  the  smuggling  of  a  rope  into 
his  cell,"  he  answered,  ''■  which  was 
found  yet  hanging  nnto  his  window, 
and  which  none  other  than  that  pes- 
tilent woman  could  have  furnished 
him  with." 

Alits !  this  was  what  I  feared  would 
happen,  when  she  first  formed  this 
project;  but  she  had  assured  us  Mr. 
Watson  would  let  himself  down  hold- 
ing the  two  ends  of  the  cord  in  his 
hands,  and  so  would  be  enabled  to 
carry  it  away  with  him  after  he  had 
got  down,  and  so  it  would  never  be 
discovered  by  what  means  he  had 
made  his  escape. 

"And  this  prisoner  hath  then  es- 
caped f  I  said  in  a  careless  manner. 

''  Marry,  out  of  one  cage,"  he  an- 
swered; *''but  I'll  warrant  you  ho  is 
by  this  time  lodged  in  a  more  safe 
dungeon,  and  with  such  bi-acelets 
on  his  hands  and  feet  as  shall  not 
suffer  him  again  to  cheat  the  gal- 
lows." 

I  dared  not  question  him  further; 


Constance  Sherwood. 


177 


and  finding  nothing  more  to  their  pur- 
pose, the  pursuivants  retired. 

When  Mr.  Congleton,  Muriel,  and 
I  afterward  met  in  the  parlor,  none 
of  us  seemed  disposed  to  speak. 
Thei-e  be  times  when  grief  is  loqua- 
cious, but  others  when  the  weight  of 
apprehension  doth  check  speech.  At 
List  I  broke  this  silence  by  such  words 
as  ''  Wliat  should  now  be  done  ?"  and 
'•  How  can  we  learn  what  hath  occur- 
red ?" 

Then  Mr.  Congleton  turned  toward 
mc,  and  with  much  gravity  and  unu- 
sual vehemency, 

"  Constance,"  quoth  he,  "when 
Margaret  Ward  resolved  on  this  bold 
action,  -which  in  the  eyes  of  some 
savored  of  rashness,  I  warned  her  to 
count  the  cost  before  undertaking  it, 
for  that  it  was  replete  with  many  dan- 
gers, and  none  should  embark  in  it 
which  was  not  prepared  to  meet  with 
a  terrible  death.  She  told  me  there- 
upon that  for  many  past  years  her 
chief  desire  had  been  to  end  her  life 
by  such  a  death,  if  it  should  be  for  the 
sake  of  religion,  and  that  the  day  she 
sliould  be  sentenced  to  it  would  prove 
thi;  joyfullest  she  had  yet  known. 
Tnis  she  said  in  an  inflamed  manner, 
iml  I  question  not  but  it  was  her  true 
thinking.  I  do  not  gainsay  the  merit 
or' this  pining,  tliougfi  I  could  wish  her 
viriuc  had  been  of  a  commoner  sort. 
But  such  being  her  aim,  her  choice, 
and  desire,  I  am  not  of  opinion  that  I 
should  now  disturb  the  peace  of  my 
wife's  helpless  days  or  mine  own  either 
(who  have  not,  I  cry  God  mercy  for 
it,  the  same  wish  to  suffer  the  pains 
reserved  to  recusants,  albeit  I  hope 
in  him  he  would  give  me  strength  to 
do  so  if  conscience  required  it),  not 
to  speak  of  you  and  Muriel  and  my 
other  daughters,  for  the  sake  of  una- 
vailing efforts  in  her  so  desperate  case, 
who  hath  made  her  own  bed  (and  I 
deny  it  not  to  bo  a  glorious  one)  and, 
IS  she  hath  made  it,  must  lie  on  it.  So 
I-  will  betake  myself  to  prayer  for  her, 
which  she  said  was  the  whole  scope  of 
the  favor  she  desired  from  her  friends, 
if  slie  fell  into  trouble,  and  dreaded 


nothing  so  much  as  any  other  dealings 
in  her  behalf;  and  if  Mr.  Roper,  or 
Brian  Lacy,  or  young  Rookwood,  have 
any  means  by  which  to  send  her 
money  for  her  convenience  in  prison,  I 
will  give  it ;  but  other  measures  I 
will  not  take,  nor  by  any  open  show 
of  interest  in  her  fate  draw  down  sus- 
picions on  us  as  parties  and  abettors 
in  her  so-called  treason." 

Neither  of  us  replied  to  this  speech ; 
and  after  that  our  short  meal  was 
ended,  Muriel  went  to  her  mother's 
chamber,  and  I  set  myself  to  consider 
what  I  should  do  ;  for  to  sit  an  1  wait 
in  this  terrible  ignorance  of  what  had 
happened  seemed  an  impossible  thing. 
So  taking  my  maid  with  me,  albeit  it 
rained  a  little,  I  walked  to  Kate's  house, 
and  found  she  and  her  husband  had 
left  it  an  hour  before  for  to  return  to 
Mr.  Benham's  seat.  Polly  and  Sir 
Ralph,  who  slept  there  also,  were  yet 
abed,  and  had  given  orders,  the  ser- 
vant said,  not  to  be  disturbed.  So  I 
turned  sorrowfully  from  the  door, 
doubting  vrhither  to  apply  myself ;  for 
Mr.  Roper  lived  at  Richmond,  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wells  were  abroad.  I 
thought  to  go  to  Mr.  Hodgson,  whose 
boatman  had  drawn  Basil  into  this 
enterprise,  and  was  standing  forecast- 
ing which  way  to  turn,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  who  should  I  see  but  Basil 
himself  coming  down  the  lane  toward 
mc !  I  tried  to  go  for  to  meet  him, 
but  my  legs  failed  me,  and  I  was 
forced  to  lean  against  my  maid  till  he 
came  up  to  us  and  drew  my 
arm  in  his.  Then  I  felt  strong 
again,  and  bidding  her  to  go  home, 
walked  a  little  way  with  him.  The 
first  words  he  said  were  : 

"  Mr.  Watson  is  safe,  but  hath  broke 
his  leg  and  his  arm.  KnoAV  you 
aught  of  Mistress  Ward  ?" 

"  There  is  a  warrant  out  against 
her,"  I  answered,  and  told  him  of  the 
pursuivants  coming  to  seek  for  her  at 
our  house. 

"  God  shield,"  he  said,  ''  she  be  nof 
apprehended !  for  sentence  of  death 
w^ould  then  be  certainly  passed  upon 
her," 


1/8 


jonsiancc 


Siierwood, 


0-1,   B; 


I    cxclalniG;], 


WilJ 


was  tli3  cord  lef:  ?" 

"  Ah,  the  devil  ^voukl  have  i;,"  he  be- 
gan ;  but  chiding  lihnself,  lifted  olF  his 
liat,  and  said,  ''Almighty  God  did  so 
permit  it  to  happen  that  this  mishap 
03eurreu.  But  I  see/'  he  subjoined, 
"you  arc  not  fit  to  walk  or  stand, 
sweetheart.  Como  into  Mr.  Wells's 
housa.  Albeit  they  are  not  at  home, 
we  may  go  and  sit  in  the  parlor  ;  and 
it  may  be  more  pnident  I  should  not 
b3  seen  abroad  to-day.  I  pray  God 
Mr,  Watson  and  I  will  sail  to-night 
for  Calais." 

So  we  rang  the  bell  at  the  door  of 
Mr.  Wells's  house ;  and  his  house- 
keeper, who  opened  it,  smiled  when 
she  saw  Basil,  for  he  was  a  great  fa- 
vorite, with  bar,  as,  indeed,  methinks 
ho  always  was  with  all  kinds  of  people. 
She  showed  us  into  Mr.  Wells's  study, 
which  she  said  was  the  most  comfort- 
able room  and  best  aired  in  the  house, 
fjr  that,  for  the  sake  of  the  books,  she 
dil  o^'ten  Il-Trht  a  fire  in  it ;  and  nothino; 


h3r  but  she  must  do  so 


-o:ill  sc 

n  rx.  And  then  she  asked  if  we  had 
])roik fasted,  and  Basil  said  i'  faith  he 
had  not,  and  should  be  very  glad  of 
some.vhat  to  cat,  if  she  would  fetch  it 
for  him.  So  when  the  fire  was  kindled 
— and  msthought  it  never  would  burn, 
the  wood  was  so  damp — she  went 
away  for  a  little  wdiile,  and  he  then 
told  me  the  haps  of  the  past  night. 

'•  Tom  Price  (Hodgson's  boatman) 

and  I,"  he  said,  '•  rowed  his  boat  clos3 

unto  the  shore,  near  to  the  prison,  and 

laid  there  under  the   cover  of  some 

penthouses    which   stood  betwixt  the 

river  and   the   prison's   v/all.     When 

the  c]o3k  struck  twelve,  I  promise  you 

my  li3art  began  to  beat  as  any  girl's, 

'  I  was    CO  frightened  lest  Mr.  Watson 

:  should  not  have  received  the  cord,  or 

!  that  his  courage  shoald  fail.     Howso- 

:  ever,  in  less  than  one  minute  I  thought 

I  perceived  comething  moving   about 

■one  of  the  windows,  and  then  a  body 

.appeared  sitting  at  first  on  the  ledge, 

but  aftsrward  it  turned  itself  round, 

and,  facing  the  wall,  sank  down  slowly, 

hanging  on  by  a  cord." 


"  Oh,  Basil  I"  I  exclaimed,  '•  coulJ 
you  keep  on  looking  ?" 

"  Yea,"  he  answered  ;  '•  as  if  mine 
eyes  should  start  out  of  my  head.  He, 
came  down  slowly,  helping  himself,  I 
ween,  with  his  feet  against  the  wail ;  but 
whenhe  got  to  about  twenty  or  thirty  feet, 
I  guess  it  to  have  been,  from  the  roof 
of  the  shed,  he  stopped  of  a  sudden, 
and  hung  motionless.  '  He  is  out  of 
breath,'  I  said  to  Tom.  '  Or  the  rope 
proves  too  shprt,'  quoth  he.  We 
watched  him  for  a  moment.  He 
swung  to  and  fro,  then  rested  again, 
his  feet  against  the  wall.  '  Beshrew 
me,  but  I  will  climb  on  to  that  roof  my- 
self, and  get  nigh  to  him,'  I  whispered 
to  Tom,  and  was  springing  out  of  the 
boat,  when  we  heard  a  noise  more 
loud  than  can  ba  thought  of.  'I'll 
warrant  you  he  hath  fallen  on  the 
planks,'  quoth  Tom.  '  Marry,  but  we 
will  pick  him  up  then,'  quoth  I ;  and 
found  myself  soon  on  the  edg3  of  the 
roof,  which  was  broken  in  at  one 
place,  and,  looking  down,  I  thought  I 
saw  him  lying  on  the  ground.  I  cried 
as  loud  as  I  durst,  '  Mr.  Watson,  be 
you  there  ?  Hist !  Are  you  hurt  ? 
Speak  if  you  can.'  Methinks  he  was 
stunned  by  the  fall,  for  he  did  not  an- 
swer ;  so  there  remained  nothing  left 
to  do  but  to  leap  myself  through  the 
opening  into  the  shed,  where  I  found 
him  with  his  eyes  shut,  and  moaning. 
But  when  I  spake  to  him  he  came  to 
himself,  and  tried  to  rise,  but  could  not 
stand,  one  of  his  legs  being  much  hurt. 
'  Chmb  on  to  my  back,  reverend  sir,'  I 
said  'and  with  God's  help  we  shall  j 
get  out.'  Howsoever,  the  way  out  did  j 
not  appear  manifest,  and  mostly  with 
another  beside  one's  self  to  carry. 
But  glancing  round  the  inside  of  the 
shed,  I  percciv^ed  a  door,  the  fastening 
of  which,  when  I  shook  it,  roughly 
enough  I  promise  you,  gave  way; 
and  the  boat  lay,  God  be  praised, 
clooC  to  it  outside.  I  gave  o:ie  look 
up  to  the  prison,  and  saw  lights  flash- 
ing in  some  of  the  whidows.  '  Tliey 
be  astir,'  I  said  to  Tom.  '  Hist !  lend 
a  hand,  man,  and  take  th3  reverend 
gentleman  from  off  my  back  and  into 


Constance  Sherwood. 


179 


the  boat.'  Mr.  Watson  uttered  a 
groan.  He  mu5t  have  suffered  cruel 
pain ;  for,  as  we  since  found,  his  leg 
and  also  his  arm  were  broken,  and  he 
looked  more  dead  than  alive. 

"  We  began  to  row  as  fast  as  we 
could ;  but  now  he,  coming  to  himself, 
feels  m  his  coat,  and  cries  out : 

" '  Oh,  kind  sirs — the  cord,  the  cord ! 
Stop,  I  pray  you  ;  stop,  turn  back.' 

"  '  Not  for  the  world,'  I  cried,  *  rev- 
erend sh'.' 

"  Then  he,  in  a  lamentable  voice  : 

" '  Oh,  if  you  turn  not  back  and 
bring  away  the  cord,  the  poor  gentle- 
woman which  did  give  it  unto  me  must 
needs  fall  into  sore  trouble.  Oh,  for 
God's  sake,  turn  back  I' 

"  I  gave  a  hasty  glance  at  the  prison, 
where  increasing  stir  of  lights  was 
visible,  and  resolved  that  to  return 
should  be  certain  ruin  to  ourselves 
and  to  him  for  whom  Mistress  Ward 
had  risked  her  life,  and  little  or  no 
hope  in  it  for  her,  as  it  was  not  possi- 
ble there  should  be  time  to  get  the 
cord  and  then  escape,  which  with 
best  speed  now  could  with  difficulty 
be  effected.  So  I  turned  a  deaf  ear 
to  Mr.  Watson's  pleadings,  with  an 
assured  conscience  she  should  have 
wished  no  otherwise  herself;  and  by 
God's  mercy  we  made  such  way  be- 
fore they  could  put  out  a  boat,  landing 
unseen  beyond  the  next  bridge,  that 
we  could  secretly  convey  him  to  the 
house  of  a  Catholic  not  far  from  the 
river  on  the  other  side,  where  he  doth 
lie  concealed.  I  promise  you,  sweets 
heart,  we  did  row  hard.  Albeit  I 
strove  very  much  last  year  when  I 
won  the  boat-match  at  Richmond,  by 
my  troth  it  was  but  child's  play  to 
last  night's  racing.  Poor  Mr.  Watson 
fainted  before  we  landed,  and  neither 
of  us  dared  venture  to  stop  from  pull- 
ing for  to  assist  him.  But,  God  be 
praised,  he  is  now  in  a  good  bed ;  and 
I  fetched  for  him  at  daybreak  a  leech 
I  knoAv  in  the  Borough,  who  hath  set 
his  broken  limbs  ;  and  to-night  if  the 
Vv'cather  be  not  foul,  when  it  gets  dark , 
we  v/ill  convey  him  in  a  boat  to  a  ves- 
sel at  the  rivei*'^  mouth,  which  I  have 


retained  for  to  take  us  to  Calais.  But 
I  would  Mistress  Ward  was  on  board 
of  it  also." 

'*'  Oh,  Basil,"  I  exclaimed,  "  if  we 
can  discover  where  she  doth  lodge,  ife 
would  not  then  be  impossible.  If  we 
had  forecasted  this  yesterday,  she 
would  be  saved.  Yet  she  had  perhaps 
refused  to  tell  us." 

"  Most  like  she  would,"  ho  ansvv^er- 
ed ;  ''  but  if  you  do  hit  by  any  means 
upon  her  abode  to-day,  forthwith  de- 
spatch a  trusty  messenger  unto  me  at 
Mr.  Hodgson's,  and  I  promise  you, 
sweetheart,  she  shall,  will  she  nill  she, 
if  I  have  to  use  force  for  it,  be  carried 
away  to  France,  and  stowed  with  a 
good  madame  I  know  at  Calais." 

The  housekeeper  then  came  in  with 
bread  and  meat  and  beer,  which  my 
dear  Basil  did  very  gladly  partake  of, 
for  he  had  eat  nothing  since  the  day 
before,  and  was  greatly  in  want  of 
food.  I  waited  0:1  him,  forestalling 
housewifely  duties,  with  so  great  a 
contentment  in  this  quiet  hour  spent 
in  his  company  that  nothing  could  sur- 
pass it.  The  fire  now  burned  bright 
ly ;  and  whilst  he  ate,  we  talked  o 
the  time  when  we  should  be  marrieci 
and  live  at  Euston,  so  retired  from 
the  busy  world  without  as  should  be 
most  safe  and  peaceful  in  these  troub- 
lesome times,  even  as  in  that  silent 
house  we  were  for  a  short  time  shut 
out  from  the  noisy  city,  the  sounds  of 
which  reached  without  disturbhig  us. 
Oh  how  welcome  was  that  little  inter- 
val of  peace  which  wo  then  enjoyed ! 
I  ween  we  were  both  very  tired ;  and 
when  the  good  housekeeper  came  ia 
for  to  fetch  away  his  plate  he  had 
fallen  asleep,  with  his  head  resting  on 
his  hands  ;  and  I  was  likewise  dozing 
in  a  high-backed  chair  opposite  to  him. 
The  noise  she  made  awoke  me,  but 
not  him,  who  slept  most  soundly.  She 
smiled,  and  in  a  motherly  manner 
moved  him  to  a  more  comfortable  po- 
sition, and  said  she  would  lay  a  wager 
on  it  he  had  not  been  abed  at  all  that 
night. 

'•  Well,  I'll  warrant  you  to    be  a 
good  guesser,  Mistress  Mason,"  I  an- 


i8o 


Constance  Sherwood, 


swered.  "  And  if  you  did  but  l^now 
what  a  hard  and  a  good  work  he  hath 
been  engaged  in,  methinks  you  would 
never  tarry  in  his  praise." 

"  Ah,  Mistress  Sherwood,"  she  re- 
plied, "  I  have  known  Master  Basil 
these  many  years ;  and  a  more  noble, 
kindly,  generous  heart  never,  I  ween, 
did  beat  in  a  man's  bosom.  He  rery 
often  came  here  with  his  father  and 
his  brother  when  both  were  striplings  ; 
and  Master  Hubert  was  the  sharpest 
and  some  said  the  most  well-behaved 
of  the  twain.  But  beshrew  me  if  I 
liked  not  better  Master  Basil,  albeit 
he  was  sometimes  very  troublesome, 
but  not  techey  or  rude  as  some  boys 
be.  I  remember  it  well  how  I  laugh- 
ed one  day  when  these  young  masters 
— methinks  this  one  was  no  more  than 
five  years  and  the  other  four — were  at 
play  together  in  this  room,  and  Basil 
had  a  new  jerkin  on,  and  colored  hose 
for  the  first  time.  Hubert  wore  a  kirtle, 
which  displeasured  him,  for  he  said 
folks  should  take  him  to  be  a  wench.  So 
he  comes  to  me,  half-crying,  and  says, 
"  Why  hath  Baz  that  fine  new  suit 
and  me  not  the  same  ?'  '  Because, 
little  sir,  he  is  the  eldest,'  I  said.  '  Ah,* 
quoth  the  shrewd  imp,  '  the  next  time 
1  be  born  methinketh  I  will  push  Baz 
aside  and  be  the  eldest.'  If  I  should 
live  one  hundred  years  I  shall  never 
forget  it,  the  little  urchin  looked  so  re- 
solved and  spiteful." 

I  smiled  somewhat  sadly,  I  ween, 
but  with  better  cheer  when  she  relat- 
ed how  tender  a  heart  Basil  had  from 
his  infant  years  toward  the  poor,  tak- 
ing off  his  clothes  for  to  give  them  to 
the  beggars  he  met,  and  one  day,  she 
said,  praying  very  hard  Mrs.  Wells 
for  to  harbor  a  strolling  man  which 
had  complained  he  had  no  lodging. 

" '  Mistress,'  quoth  he,  *  you  have 
many  chambers  in  your  house,  and  he 
hath  not  so  much  as  a  bed  to  lie  in  to- 
night;' and  would  not  be  contented 
till  she  had  charged  a  servant  to  get 
the  fellow  a  lodging.  And  me  he  once 
abused  very  roundly  in  his  older  years 
for  the  same  cause.  There  was  one 
flack  Morris,  an  old  man  which  work- 


ed sometimes  in  Mr.  Wells's  stable, 
but  did  lie  at  a  cottage  out  of  the 
town.  And  one  day  in  winter, 
when  it  snowed,  Master  Basil  would 
have  me  make  this  fellow  sleep  in  the 
house,  because  he  was  sick,  he  said, 
and  he  would  give  him  his  own  bed 
and  lie  himself  on  straw  in  the  stable 
and  went  into  so  great  a  passion  when 
I  said  he  should  not  do  so,  for  that  he 
was  a  mean  person  and  could  not  lie 
in  a  gentleman's  chamber,  that  my 
young  master  cries  out,  '  Have  a  care, 
Mistress  Mason,  I  do  not  come  in  the 
night  and  shake  you  out  of  your  own 
bed,  for  to  give  you  a  taste  of  the 
cold  floor,  which  yet  is  not,  I  promise 
you,  so  cold  as  the  street  into  which 
you  would  turn  this  poor  diseased 
man.'  And  then  he  fell  to  coaxing  of 
me  till  I  consented  for  to  send  a  mat- 
tress and  a  warm  rug  to  the  stable  for 
this  pestilent  old  man,  who  I  warrant 
you  was  not  so  sick  as  he  did  assume 
to  be,  but  had  sufficient  cunning  for  to 
cozen  Master  Basil  out  of  his  money. 
Lord  bless  the  lad !  I  have  seen 
him  run  out  with  his  dinner  in  his 
hand,  if  he  did  but  see  a  ragged  ur- 
chin in  the  streets,  and  gift  him  with  it ; 
and  then  would  sing  lustily  about  the 
house — methinks  I  do  hear  him 
now — 

'  Dinner,  O  dinner's  .a  rare  good  thin^ 
Alike  tor  a  beggar,  alike  for  a  king.'  " 

Bitsil  opened  then  his  eyes  and 
stared  about  liim. 

"  Why,  Mistress  Mason,"  he  cried, 
"beshrew  me  if  you  are  not  rehears- 
ing a  rare  piece  of  poesy ! — the  only 
one  I  ever  did  indite."  At  the  which 
speech  we  all  laughed  ;  but  our  mer- 
riment was  short ;  for  time  had  sped 
faster  than  we  thought,  and  Basil  said 
he  must  needs  return  to  the  Borough 
to  forecast  with  Mr.  Hodgson  and 
Tom  Price  means  to  convey  I^Ir. 
Watson  to  the  ship,  which  was  out  at 
sea  nigh  unto  the  shore,  and  a  boat 
must  be  had  to  carry  them  there,  and 
withal  such  apphances  procured  as 
should  ease  his  broken  limbs. 

"  Is  there  not  danger  "  I  asked,  '•  in 
movin";  him  so  soon  ?" 


Constance  Sherwood, 


I8r 


"  Yea  "  he  said,  "  but  a  less  fearful 
danger  than  in  long  tarrying  in  this 
country." 

This  was  too  true  to  be  gainsayed ; 
and  so  thanking  the  good  housekeeper 
we  left  the  house,  which  had  seemed 
for  those  few  hours  like  unto  a  har- 
bor from  a  stormy  sea,  wherein  both 
our  barks,  shattered  by  the  waves,  had 
refitted  in  peace. 

"  Farewell,  Basil,"  I  mournfully 
said  ;  "  God  knoweth  for  how  long." 

"  Not  for  very  long,"  he  answered. 
<*  In  three  months  I  shall  have  crept 
out  of  my  wardship.  Then,  if  it 
please  God,  I  will  return,  and  so  deal 
with  your  good  uncle  that  we  shall 
soon  after  that  be  married." 

"  Yea,"  I  answered,  "  if  so  be  that 
my  father  is  then  in  safety." 

He  said  he  meant  not  otherwise, 
but  that  he  had  great  confidence  it 
should  then  be  so.  When  at  last  we 
parted  he  went  down  Holborn  Hill 
very  fast,  and  I  slowly  to  Ely  Place, 
many  times  stopping  for  to  catch  one 
more  sight  of  him  in  the  crowd,  which 
howsoever  soon  hid  him  from  me. 

When  I  arrived  at  home  I  found 
Muriel  in  great  affliction,  for  news  had 
reached  her  that  Mistress  Ward  had 
been  apprehended  and  thrown  mto 
prison.  Methinks  we  had  both  looked 
for  no  other  issue  than  this,  which  she 
had  herself  most  desired ;  but  never- 
theless, when  the  certainty  thereof 
was  confirmed  to  us,  it  should  almost 
have  seemed  as  if  we  were  but  ill-pre- 
pared for  it.  The  hope  I  had  con- 
ceived a  short  time  before  that  she 
should  escape  in  the  same  vessel  with 
Basil  and  Mr.  Watson,  made  me  less 
resigned  to  this  mishap  than  I  should 
have  been  had  no  means  of  safety 
been  at  hand,  and  the  sword,  as  it 
were,  hanging  over  her  head  from  day 
to  day.  The  messenger  which  had 
brought  this  evil  news  being  warrant- 
ed reliable  by  a  letter  from  Mr.  Hodg- 
son, I  intrusted  him  with  a  few  lines 
to  Basil,  in  which  I  informed  him  not 
to  stay  his  departure  on  her  account, 
who  was  now  within  the  walls  of  the 
prison  which  Mr.  Watson  had  escaped 


from,  and  that  her  best  comfort  now 
should  be  to  know  he  was  beyond 
reach  of  his  pursuers.  The  rest  of  the 
day  was  spent  in  great  heaviness  of 
spirit.  Mr.  Congleton  sent  a  servant 
to  Mr.  Roper  for  to  request  him  to 
come  to  London,  and  wrote  likewise 
to  Mr.  Lacy  for  to  return  to  his  hous<: 
in  town,  and  confer  with  some  Catho- 
lics touching  Mistress  Ward's  impris- 
onment. Muriel's  eyes  thanked  hun, 
but  I  ween  she  had  no  hope  therein 
and  did  resign  herself  to  await  the 
worst  tidings.  Her  mother's  unceas- 
ing asking  for  her,  whose  plight  she 
dared  not  so  much  as  hint  at  in  her 
presence,  did  greatly  aggravate  her 
sufierings.  I  have  often  thought  Mu- 
riel did  then  undergo  a  martyrdom  of 
the  heart  as  shai'p  in  its  kind  as  that 
which  Mistress  Ward  endured  in  prison, 
if  the  reports  which  did  reach  us  were 
true.  But  more  of  that  anon.  The 
eventful  day,  which  had  opened  witli 
so  much  of  fear  and  sorrow,  had  yet 
in  store  other  haps,  which  I  must  now 
relate. 

About  four  of  the  clock  Hubert 
came  to  Ely  Place,  and  found  mc 
alone  in  the  parlor,  my  fingers  busied 
with  some  stitching,  my  thoughts  hav- 
ing wandered  far  away,  where  I  pic- 
tured to  myself  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  the  receding  tide,  the  little  ves- 
sel which  was  to  carry  Basil  away 
once  more  to  a  foreign  land,  with  its 
sails  flapping  in  the  wind  ;  and  boats 
passing  to  and  fro,  plying  on  the  fair 
bosom  of  the  broad  river,  and  not 
leaving  so  much  as  a  trace  of  their 
passage.  And  his  boat  with  its  freight 
more  precious  than  gold — the  rescued 
life  bought  at  a  great  price — me- 
thought  I  saw  it  glide  in  the  dark 
amidst  those  hundred  other  boats  un- 
observed (so  I  hoped),  unstayed  0:1 
its  course.  Methought  that  so  little 
bark  should  be  a  type  of  some  lives 
which  carry  with  them,  unwalched, . 
undiscerned,  a  purpose,  which  dot  i 
freight  them  on  their  way  to  eternity 
— somewhat  hidden,  somewhat  close 
to  then*  hearts,  somewhat  engaging 
their    whole     strength;    and  all  the 


1 82 


Constance  Sherwood, 


while  tliey  seem  to  be  doing  the  like 
of  what  others  do ;  and  God  only 
knoweth  how  different  shall  be  the 
end! 

"Ah,  Hubert,"  I  exclaimed  when 
the  door  opened,  "is  it  yon?  Me- 
thinks  in  these  days  I  see  no  one 
come  into  this  house  but  a  fear  or  a 
hope  doth  seize  me.  Whatbringeth 
you  ?  or  hath  nothing  occuiTo*!  ?" 

"  Something  may  occur  this  day," 
he  answered,  "if  you  do  but  will  it  to 
be  so,  Constance." 

"  What  ?"  I  asked  eagerly  ;  "  what 
may  occur  ?" 

"  Your  father's  deliverance/'  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  Hubert,"  I  cried,  "  it  is  not 
possible !" 

"  Go  to !"  he  said  in  a  resolved 
manner.  "  Don  your  most  becoming 
suit,  and  follow  my  directions  in  all 
ways.  Lady  Ingoldsby,  I  thank  God, 
hath  not  left  London,  and  will  be  here 
anon  to  carry  you  to  Sir  Francis  Wal- 
singham's  house,  where  her  famihar 
friend,  Lady  Sydney,  doth  now  abide 
(luring  Sir  Philip's  absence.  You 
shall  thus  get  speech  with  Sir  Fran- 
cis ;  and  if  you  do  behave  with  diffi- 
dency,  and  beware  of  the  violence  of 
your  nature  and  exorbitancy  of  your 
tongue,  checking  needless  speeches, 
and  answering  his  questions  with  as 
many  words  as  courtesy  doth  com- 
mand, and  as  few  as  civility  doth  per- 
mit, I  doubt  not  but  you  may  obtain 
your  father's  release  in  the  form  of  a 
sentence  of  banishment ;  for  he  is  not 
ill-disposed  thereunto,  having  received 
notice  that  his  health  is  sinking  under 
the  hardships  of  his  confinement,  and 
his  strength  so  impaired  that,  once  be- 
yond seas,  he  is  not  like  to  adventure 
himself  again  in  this  country." 

"  Alas  !"  I  cried,  "  mine  eyes  had 
discerned  in  his  shrunken  form  and 
hollow  cheeks  tokens  of  such  a  decay 
as  you  speak  of;  and  I  pray  God 
Mr.  Secretary  may  deal  mercifully 
with  him  before  it  shall  be  too  late." 

"I'll  warrant  you,"  he  replied, 
"  that  if  you  do  rightly  deal  with  him, 
he  will  sijjn  an  order  which  shall  re- 


lease this  very  night  your  father  from 
prison,  and  send  him  safe  beyond  seas 
before  the  week  is  ended." 

"  Think  you  so  ?"  I  said,  my  heart 
beating  with  an  uncertain  kind  of  hope 
mixed  with  doubting. 

"  I  am  assured  of  it,"  Hubert  con 
fidently  replied. 

"  I  must  ask  my  uncle's  advice,'* 
doubtfully   said,   ''before   I   go   with 
Polly." 

A  contemptuous  smile  curled  his  lip. 
"  Yea,"  he  said,  "  be  directed  in  these 
weighty  matters,  I  do  advise  you,  by 
your  aunt  also,  and  the  saintly  Muriel, 
and  twenty  hundred  others  beside,  if 
j'Ou  list;  and  the  while  this  last 
chance  shall  escape,  and  your  father 
be  doomed  to  death.  I  have  done  my 
part,  God  knoweth.  If  he  perish,  his 
blood  will  not  be  on  my  head;  but 
mark  my  words,  if  he  be  not  presently 
released,  he  will  appear  before  the 
council  in  two  days,  and  the  oath  be 
tendered  to  him,  which  you  best 
know  if  he  will  take,  and  his  refusal 
without  fail  will  send  him  to  the  scaf- 
fold." 

"  God  defend,"  I  exclaimed,"  greatly 
moved,  "I  should  delay  to  do  that 
which  may  yet  save  him.  I  will  go, 
Hubert.  But  I  pray  you,  who  are 
familiar  with  Sir  Francis,  what  means 
should  be  best  for  to  move  him  to 
compassion  ?  Is  there  a  soft  corner  in 
his  heart  which  a  woman's  tears  can 
touch  ?  I  will  kneel  to  him  if  needful, 
yea,  kiss  his  feei — ^mind  him  of  his 
own  fair  daughter.  Lady  Sydney, 
which,  if  he  was  in  prison,  and  my  fa- 
ther held  his  fate  in  his  hands,  would 
doubtless  sue  to  him  with  the  like  ar- 
dor, yea,  the  like  agony  of  spirit,  for 
mercy.  Oh,  tell  me,  Hubert,  what  to 
say  which  shall  drive  the  edge  of  pity 
into  his  soul." 

"  Silence  will  take  effect  in  this  case 
sooner  than  the  most  moving  speeches,** 
he  answered  "  Steel  your  soul  to  it, 
whatever  he  may  say.  Your  tears,  your 
eyes,  will,  I  warrant  you,  plead  more 
miglitfully  than  your  words.  He  is 
as  obliging  to  the  softer  but  predomi- 
nant parts  of  the  world  as  he  is  scrv- 


Constance  Sherwood, 


183 


iceable  to  the  more  severe.  To  him 
men's  faces  speak  as  much  as  their 
tongues,  and  their  countenances  are 
indexes  of  their  hearts.  Judge  if 
yours,  the  liveliest  piece  of  eloquence 
which  ever  displayed  itself  in  a  fair 
visage,  shall  fail  to  express  tliat  which 
passionate  words,  missing  their  aim, 
would  of  a  surety  ill  convey.  And 
mind  you.  Mistress  Constance,  this 
man  is  of  extreme  ability  in  the  school 
of  policy,  and  albeit  inclined  to  recu- 
sants with  the  view  of  winning  them 
over  by  means  of  kindness,  yet  an  ex- 
treme hater  of  the  Pope  and  Church 
of  Rome,  and  moreover  very  jealous  to 
be  considered  as  such ;  so  if  he  do  in- 
tend to  show  you  fovor  in  this  matter, 
make  your  reckoning  that  he  wiM  urge 
you  to  conformity  with  many  strenu- 
ous exhortations,  which,  if  you  remain 
silent,  no  harm  shall  ensue  to  your- 
self or  others." 

*^  And  not  to  mine  own  soul,  Hu- 
bert ?"  I  mournfully  cried.  "  Me- 
thinks  my  father  and  Basil  w'ould  not 
counsel  silence  in  such  a  case." 

"  God  in  heaven  give  me  patience  !"' 
iio  exclaimed.  ."  Is  it  a  woman's  call- 
ing, I  pray  you,  to  preach  ?  When 
the  apostles  were  dismissed  by  the 
judges,  and  charged  no  longer  to  teach 
the  Christian  faith,  went  they  not  forth 
in  silence,  restraining '  their  tongues 
then,  albeit  not  their  actions  when 
once  at  liberty  ?  Methinks  modesty 
alone  should  forbid  one  of  your  years 
from  dangerous  retorts,  which,  like  a 
two-edged  sword,  wound  alike  friend 
and  foe." 

I  had  no  courage  left  to  withstand 
the  promptings  of  mine  own  heart  and 
his  urgency. 

"  God  forgive  me,"  I  cried,  "  if  I 
fail  in  aught  wherein  truth  or  honesty 
are  concerned.  He  knoweth  I  would 
do  right,  and  yet  save  my  father's 
life." 

Then  falling  on  my  knees,  unmind- 
ful of  his  presence,  I  prayed  with  an 
intense  vehemency,  which  overcame 
all  restraint,  that  my  tongue  might  be 
guided  aright  when  I  should  be  in  his 
presence  who  under  God  did  hold  my 


father's  life  in  his  hands'.  But  hear- 
ing Polly's  voice  in  the  hall,  I  started 
up,  and  noticed  Hubert  leaning  his 
head  on  his  hand,  seemingly  more 
pitifully  moved  than  was  his  went. 
When  she  came  in,  he  met  her,  and 
said : 

"  Lady  Ingoldsby,  I  pray  you  see 
that  Mistress  Constance  doth  so  attire 
herself  as  shall  heighten  her  natural 
attractions  ;  for,  beshrew  me,  if  grave 
Mr.  Secretary  hath  not,  as  well  as 
other  men,  more  pity  for  a  fair 
face  than  a  plain  one ;  and  al- 
beif  hers  is  always  fair,  nature  doth 
nevertheless  borrow  additional  charms 
from  art." 

"  Tut,  tut !"  quoth  Polly.  "  She  is 
a  perfect  fright  in  that  hat,  and  her 
ruff  hideth  all  her  neck,  than  which 
no  swan  hath  a  w^hiter;  and  I  pray 
you  what  a  farthingale  is  that !  Me- 
thinks it  savors  of  the  fashions  of  the 
late  queen's  reign.  Come,  Con,  cheer 
up,  and  let  us  to  thy  chamber.  I'll 
warrant  you.  Master  liookwood,  she 
will  be  twice  as  winsome  when  I  have 
exercised  my  skill  on  her  attire." 

So  she  led  me  away,  and  I  suffered 
her  to  dress  mine  hair  herself,  and 
choose  such  ornaments  as  she  did 
deem  most  becoming.  Albeit  she 
laughed  and  jested  all  the  while,  me- 
thinks the  kindness  of  her  heart  show- 
ed through  this  apparent  gaiety ;  and 
when  her  task  was  done,  aud  she  kiss- 
ed my  forehead,,  I  threw  my  arms 
round  her  neck  and  wept. 

"  Nay,  nay  !"  she  cried  ;  "  no  tears, 
coz — they  do  serve  but  to  swell  the 
eyelids  and  paint  the  nose  of  a  reddish 
hue  ;"  and  shaping  her  own  visage  in- 
to a  counterfeit  of  mine,  she  set  me 
laughing  against  my  will,  and  drew 
me  by  the  hand  down  the  stairs  and 
into  the  parlor. 

"  How  now^,  sir  ?"  she  cried  to  Hu- 
bert. "  Think  you  I  have  indifferent- 
ly well  performed  the  task  you  set 
me?" 

"  Most  excellently  well,"  he  answer- 
ed, and  handed  us  to  her  coach,  which 
w^as  to  carry  us  to  Seething  Lane. 
When  we  were  seated  in  it,  she  told 


1 84 


Constancz  Sherwood, 


me  Hubert  had  disclosed  to  her  tlie 
secret  of  mj  fathers  plight,  and  thali 
she  was  more  concerned  than  she 
could  well  express  at  so  great  a  mis- 
hap, but  nevertheless  entertained  a 
comfortable  hope  this  day  should  pres- 
ently see  the  end  of  our  troubles. 
Howsoever,  she  did  know  but  half  of 
the  trouble  I  was  in,  weighty  as  was  the 
part  she  was  privy  to.  Hubert,  she 
told  me,  had  dealt  with  a  marvellous 
great  zeal  and  ability  in  this  mat- 
ter, and  proved  himself  so  good  a 
negotiator  that  she  doubted  not  Sir 
Francis  himself  must  needs  have  ap- 
preciated his  ingenuity. 

"  That  young  gentleman,"  she  add- 
ed, "  will  never  spoil  his  own  market 
by  lack  of  timely  boldness  or  oppor- 
tune bashfulness.  My  Lady  Arun- 
del related  to  me  last  night  at  Mrs. 
Yates's  what  passed  on  Monday  at  the 
banquet-hall  at  Whitehall.  Hath  he 
told  you  his  hap  on  that  occasion  ?" 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "  I  pray  you, 
Polly,  what  befel  him  there  ?" 

^-  Well,  her  majesty  was  at  dinner, 
and  Master  Hubert  comes  there  to 
see  the  fashion  of  the  court.  His 
handsome  features  and  well-set  shape 
attract  the  queen's  notice.  With  a 
kind  of  an  affected  frown  she  asks 
Lady  Arundel  what  he  is.  She  an- 
swers she  knows  him  not.  Howso- 
ever, an  inquiry  is  made  from  one  to 
another  who  the  youth  should  be,  till 
at  length  it  is  told  the  queen  he  is 
young  Rookwood  of  Euston,in  Suffolk, 
and  a  ward  of  Sir  Henry  Stafford's." 

"  Mistaking  him  then  for  Basil  ?"  I 
said. 

Then  she  :  "  I  think  so ;  but  how- 
soever this  inquisition  with  the  eye  of 
her  majesty  fixed  upon  him  (as  she  is 
wont  to  fix  it,  and  thereby  to  daunt 
such  as  she  doth  make  the  mark  of 
her  gazing),  stirred  tlie  blood  of  our 
young  gentleman,  Lady  Arundel  said, 
insomuch  that  a  deep  color  rose  in  his 
pale  cheek  and  straightway  left  it 
again ;  which  the  queen  observing, 
she  called  him  unto  her,  and  gave  him 
her  hand  to  kiss,  encouraging  him 
with  gracious  words  and  looks;  and 


then  diverting  her  speech  to  the  lo.\l.- 
and  ladles,  said  that  she  no  sooner 
observed  him  than  she  did  note  theri? 
was  in  him  good  blood,  and  she  ven- 
tured to  affirm  good  brains  also ;  and 
then  said  to  him,  '  Fail  not  to  come  to 
court,  sir,  and  I  will  bethink  myself  to 
do  you  good.'  Now  I  warrant  you, 
coz,  this  piece  of  a  scholar  lacked  not 
the  wit  to  use  this  his  hap  in  the  fur- 
therance of  his  and  your  suit  to  Sir 
Francis,  whom  he  adores  as  his  saint, 
and  courts  as  his  M-.iecenas." 

This  recital  of  Polly's  worked  a  tu- 
multuous conflict  in  my  soul ;  for  veri- 
ly it  strengthened  hope  touching  my 
father's  release ;  but  methinks  any 
other  channel  of  such  hope  should  have 
been  more  welcome.  A  jealousy,  an 
unsubstantial  fear,  an  uneasy  misdoubt 
oppressed  this  rising  hope.  I  feared 
for  Hubert  the  dawn  of  such  favor  as 
was  shown  to  him  by  her  whose  regal 
hand  doth  hold  a  magnet  which  hath 
oftentimes  caused  Catholics  to  make 
shipwreck  of  their  souls.  And  then 
truth  doth  compel  me  to  confess  my 
weakness.  Albeit  God  knoweth  I  de- 
sired not  for  my  true  and  noble  sweet- 
heart her  majesty's  gracious  smiles,  or 
a  higher  fortune  than  Providence  hath 
by  inheritance  bestowed  on  him,  a 
vain  humane  feeling  worked  in  me 
some  sort  of  displeasure  that  his 
younger  brother  should  stand  in  the 
queen's  presence  as  the  supposed  head 
of  the  house  of  Rookwood,  and  no 
more  mention  made  of  him  than  if  he 
had  been  outlawed  or  dead.  Not  that 
I  had  then  reason  to  lay  this  error  to 
Hubert's  door,  for  verily  naught  in 
Polly's  words  did  warrant  such  a  sus- 
picion ;  but  my  heart  was  sore,  and 
my  spirits  chafed  with  apprehensions. 
God  forgive  me  if  I  then  did  unjustly 
accuse  him,  and,  in  the  retrospect  of 
this  passage  in  his  Kfe,  do  suffer  sub- 
sequent events  to  cast  backward  shall- 
ows on.it,  whereby  I  may  wrong  him 
who  did  render  to  me  (I  write  it  wit!i 
a  softened — yea,  God  is  my  witness — 
a  truly  loving,  albeit  sorrowiug,  heart) 
a  great  service  in  a  needful  time.  0!>. 
Hubert,  Hubert !  my  heart  acheth  iov 


Constance  Sherwood. 


85 


thee.  Methlnks  God  will  show  thee 
great  mercy  yet,  but,  I  fear  me,  by 
such  means  only  as  I  do  tremble  to 
thmk  of. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

When  we  reached  Seething  Lane, 
Polly  bade  me  be  of  good  heart,  for 
that  Lady  Sydney  was  a  v«ry  affable 
and  debonnaire  lady,  and  Sir  Francis 
a  person  of  toward  and  gentle  manners, 
and  exceedingly  polite  to  women.  We 
were  conducted  to  a  neat  parlor, 
where  my  Lady  Sydney  was  awaiting 
us.  A  more  fair  and  accomplished 
lady  is  not,  I  ween,  to  be  found  in 
England  or  any  other  country,  than 
this  daughter  of  a  great  statesman, 
and  wife  at  that  time  of  Sir  Philip 
Sydney,  as  she  hath  since  been  of  my 
Lords  Essex  and  St.  Albans.  Me- 
thinks  the  matchless  gentleman,  noble 
knight,  and  sweet  writer,  her  first  hus- 
band, who  did  marry  her  portionless, 
not  like  as  is  the  fashion  with  so  many 
in  our  days,  carrying  his  love  in  his 
purse,  must  have  needs  drawn  from 
the  fair  model  in  his  own  house  the 
lovely  pictures  of  beauteous  women 
he  did  portray  in  his  "  Arcadia."  She 
greeted  us  with  so  much  heartfelt  po- 
liteness, and  so  tempered  gay  dis- 
coursing with  sundry  marks  of  deli- 
cate feeUng,  indicative,  albeit  not  ex- 
pressive, of  a  sense  of  my  then  trou- 
ble, that,  albeit  a  stranger,  methinks 
her  reserved  compassion  and  ingeni- 
ous encouragements  served  to  tran- 
quillize my  discomposed  mind  more 
than  Polly's  efforts  toward  the  same 
end.  She  told  us  Lord  Arundel  had 
died  that  morning;  which  tidings 
turned  my  thoughts  awhile  to  Lady 
Surrey,  with  many  cogitations  as  to 
ihe  issue  of  this  event  in  her  regard. 

After  a  short  space  of  time,  a  step 
neared  the  door,  and  Lady  Sydney 
smiled  and  said,  "  Here  is  my  father." 
1  had  two  or  three  times  seen  Sir 
Francis  Walsingham  in  public  assem- 
blies, but  his  features  were  neverthe- 


less not  familiar  to  me.  Now,  after 
he  had  saluted  Polly  and  me,  and 
made  inquiry  touching  our  relatives, 
while  he  conversed  with  her  on  indif- 
ferent topics,  I  scanned  his  face  with 
such  careful  industry  as  if  in  it  I 
should  read  the  issue  of  my  dear  fa- 
ther's fate.  Methinks  I  never  beheld 
80  unreadable  a  countenance,  or  one 
which  bore  the  impress  of  so  refined 
a  penetration,  so  piercing  an  inquisi- 
tiveness,  so  keen  a  research  into 
others*  thoughts,  with  so  close  a  con- 
cealment of  his  own.  I  have  since 
heard  what  his  son-in-law  did  write  of 
him,  that  he  impoverished  himself  by 
the  purchase  of  dear  intelligence; 
that,  as  if  master  of  some  invisible 
spring,  all  the  secrets  of  Christendom 
met  in  his  closet,  and  he  had  even  a 
key  to  unlock  the  Pope's  cabinet. 
His  mottoes  are  said  to  be  video  ct  ta- 
ceo,  and  that  knowledge  can  never  be 
bought  at  too  high  a  price.  And  veri- 
ly methinks  they  were  writ  in  his  face, 
in  his  quick-turning  eyes,  his  thin, 
compressed  lips,  and  his  soft  but  re- 
solved accents,  minding  one  of  steel 
cased  in  velvet.  'Tis  reported  he  can 
read  any  letter  without  breaking  the 
seal.  For  mine  own  part,  I  am  of 
opinion  he  can  see  through  parch- 
ment, yea,  peradventure,  through 
stone  walls,  when  bent  on  some  dis- 
covery. After  a  few  minutes  he  turn- 
ed to  me  with  a  gracious  smile,  and 
said  he  was  very  glad  to  hear  that  I 
was  a  young  gentlewoman  of  great 
prudence,  and  well  disposed  in  all  re- 
spects, and  that  he  doubted  not  that, 
if  her  majesty  should  by  his  means 
show  me  any  favor,  I  should  requite  it 
with  such  gratitude  as  should  appear 
in  all  ray  future  conduct. 

"  God  knoweth,"  I  stammered,  mine 
eyes  filling  with  tears,  "I  would  be 
grateful  to  you,  sir,  if  it  should  please 
you  to  move  her  majesty  to  grant  my 
prayer,  and  to  her  highness  for  the 
doing  of  it." 

*'  And  how  would  you  show  such 
gratitude,  fair  Mistress  Constance?" 
he  said,  smiling  in  an  encouraging 
manner. 


i86 


Constance  Sherwood. 


"  By  sach  humble  duty,"  I  answer- 
ed, '•  as  a  poor  obscure  creature  can 
pay  to  her  betters/' 

"  And  I  hope,  also,"  he  said,  "  that 
such  dutifulness  will  involve  no  un- 
pleasing  effort,  no  painful  constraint 
on  your  inclinations  ;  for  I  am  assur- 
ed her  majesty  will  never  desire  from 
you  anything  but  what  will  well  ac- 
cord with  your  advantage  in  this  world 
and  in  the  next." 

These  words  caused  me  some  kind 
of  uneasiness  ;  but  as  they  called  for 
no  answer,  I  took  refuge  in  silence  ; 
only  methinks  my  face,  which  he  did 
seem  carefully  to  study,  betrayed 
anxiety. 

"  Providence,"  Sir  Francis  then 
said,  "  doth  oftentimes  marvellously 
dispose  events.  What  a  rare  instance 
of  its  gracious  workings  should  be 
seen  in  your  case.  Mistress  Constance, 
if  what  your  heart  doth  secretly  in- 
cline to  should  become  a  part  of  that 
dutifulness  which  you  do  intend  to 
practice  in  future  !" 

Before  I  had  clearly  apprehended 
the  sense  of  his  words.  Lady  Sydney 
said  to  Polly : 

"  My  father  hath  greatly  commend- 
ed to  Sir  Philip  and  me  a  young  gen- 
tleman which  I  understand,  Lady  In- 
goldsby,  to  be  a  friend  of  yours,  Mr. 
Hubert  Rookwood,  of  Euston.  He 
says  the  gracefulness  of  his  person,  his 
excellent  parts,  his  strong  and  subtle 
capacity,  do  excellently  fit  him  to 
learn  the  discipline  and  garb  of  the 
times  and  court." 

"  Ay,"  then  quoth  Sir  Francis,  "  he 
nath  as  large  a  portion  of  gifts  and  en- 
dowments as  I  have  ever  noticed  in 
one  of  his  age,  and  I'll  warrant  he 
proves  no  mere  vegetable  of  the  court, 
spi*inging  up  at  night  and  sinking  at 
noon." 

Polly  did  warmly  assent  to  these 
praises  of  Hubert,  for  whom  she  had 
always  entertained  a  great  liking; 
but  she  merrily  said  he  was  not  gay 
enough  for  her,  v/hich  abhorred  mel- 
ancholy as  cats  do  water. 

"Oil,  fair  lady,"  quoth  Sir  Francis, 
"  Go\   djfend   we   should   be  melan- 


choly ;  but  verily  'tis  fitting  we  should 
be  sometimes  serious,  for  while  .we 
laugh  all  things  are  serious  round 
about  us.  Tlie  whole  creation  is 
serious  in  serving  God  and  us.  The 
holy  Scriptures  bring  to  our  ears  the 
most  serious  things  in  the  world.  All 
that  are  in  heaven  and  hell  are  serious. 
Then  how  should  we  be  always  gay  ?" 

Polly  said — for  when  had  she  not,  I 
pray  you,  somewhat  to  say? — that  cer- 
tain thing* in  nature  had  a  propensity 
to  gaiety  which  naught  could  quell, 
and  instanced  birds  and  streamlets, 
which  never  cease  to  sing  and  babble  as 
long  as  they  do  live  or  flow.  And  to 
be  serious,  she  thought,  would  kill  her. 
The  while  this  talk  was  ministered  be- 
tween them,  my  Lady  Sydney,  on  a 
sign  from  her  father,  I  ween,  took  my 
hand  in  hers,  and  offered  to  show  me 
the  garden ;  for  the  heat  of  the  room, 
she  said,  was  like  to  give  me  the  head- 
ache. Upon  which  I  rose,  and  follow- 
ed her  into  a  court  planted  with  trees, 
and  then  on  to  an  alley  of  planes 
strewed  with  gravel.  As  we  entered 
it  I  perceived  several  persons  walking 
toward  us.  When  the  first  thought 
came  into  my  mind  who  should  be  the 
tall  personage  in  the  centre,  of  hair 
and  complexion  fair,  and  of  so  stately 
and  majestic  deportment,  I  marvel  my 
limbs  gave  not  way,  but  my  head 
swam  and  a  mist  obscured  mine  eyes. 
Methinks,  as  one  dreaming,  I  heard 
Lady  Sydney  say,  "  The  queen,  Mis- 
tress Sherwood ;  kneel  down,  and  kiss 
her  majesty's  hand."  Oli,  in  the  brief 
moment  of  time  when  my  Hps  pressed 
that  thin,  white,  jewelled  hand,  what 
multiplied  thoughts,  resentful  memo- 
ries, trembling  awe,  and  instinctive 
homage  to  royal  greatness,  met  in  my 
soul,  and  worked  confusion  in  my 
brain ! 

"Ah,  mine  own  good  Sydney,"  I 
heard  her  majesty  exclaim ;  "  is  this 
the  young  gentlewoman  your  wise  fa- 
ther did  speak  of  at  Gl-reenwlch  yester- 
day? Th'^,  daughter  of  one  S'.ierwoo;! 
now  in  prison  tor  popish  contu- 
macy ?" 

"  Even    so,"   sa.d   L-^dy   Sydney  ; 


Constance  Sherwood. 


187 


"  and  your  sabred  majesty  hath  it  now 
in  her  power  to  show 

'  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained—'  " 

"  '  But  droppeth  as  Ihc  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath,'  " 

interrupted  the  queen,  taking  the 
w  oida  out  of  her  mouth.  "  We  be  not 
ignorant  of  those  lines.  Will  Shake- 
speare hath  it, 

'  'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest ;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown/ 

And  i'  faith  we  differ  not  from  him, 
for  verily  mercy  is  our  habit  and  the 
propension  of  our  soul ;  but,  by  God, 
the  malice  and  ingratitude  of  recusant 
traitors  doth  so  increase,  with  manifold 
dangers  to  our  person  and  state,  that 
mercy  to  them  doth  turn  into  treason 
against  ourselv^es,  injury  to  religion, 
and  an  offence  to  God.  Rise,"  her 
majesty  then  said  to  me ;  and  as  I 
stood  before  her,  the  color,  I  ween, 
deepening  in  my  cheeks,  "  Thou  hast  a 
fair  face,  wench,"  she  cried ;  "  and  if  I 
remember  aright  good  Mr.  Secretary's 
words,  hast  used  it  to  such  purpose 
that  a  young  gentleman  we  have  of 
late  taken  into  our  favor  is  somewhat 
excessive  m  his  doting  on  it.  Go  to, 
go  to  ;  thou  couldst  go  further  and  fare 
worse.  We  oui'selvcs  are  averse  to 
marriage  ;  but  if  a  woman  must  needs 
have  a  husband  (and  that  deep  blush- 
ing betokeneth  methinks  thy  bent 
thereon),  she  should  set  her  heart 
wisely,  and  govern  it  discreetly." 

•'  Alas,  madam  !"  I  cried,  "  'tis  not 
of  marriage  I  now  do  think ;  but,  on 
my  knees"  (and  falling  again  at  her 
feet,  I  clasped  them,  with  tears),  "  of 
my  father's  release ;  I  do  crave  your 
majesty's  mercy." 

"  Content  thee,  wench ;  content 
thee.  Mr.  Secretary  hath  obtained 
from  us  the  order  for  that  foolish 
man's  banishment  from  our  realm." 

"  Oh,  madam  I"  I  cried,  "  God  bless 
you !" 

Then  my  heart  did  smite  me  I 
should  with  so  great  vehemency  bless 
her  who,  albeit  in  this  nearest  instance 
;>itirul  to  me,  did  so  relentlessly  deal 


with  others  ;  and  I  bethought  me  of 
Mistress  AYard,  and  the  ill-usage  she 
was  like  to  meet  with.  And  her 
words  touching  Hubert,  and  F;ilence 
concerning  Basil,  weighed  like  lead 
on  my  soul ;  yet  I  taxed  myself  with 
folly  therein,  for  verily  at  this  time 
the  less  he  was  thought  of  the  greater 
should  be  his  safety.  Sir  Francis 
had  now  approached  the  queen,  and  I 
did  hear  her  commend  to  him  his  gar- 
den, which  she  said  was  very  neat 
and  trim,  and  the  pattern  of  it  most 
quaint  and  fanciful.  Polly  did  also 
kiss  her  hand,  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
and  Sir  Christopher  Hatton,  which 
accompanied  her  majesty,  whilst  she 
talked  with  Sir  Francis,  conversed 
with  Lady  Sydney.  I  ween  my  Lord 
Leicester  and  many  other  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  were  also  in  her  train, 
but  mine  eyes  took  scant  note  of  what 
passed  before  them  ;  the  c^een  herself 
was  the  only  object  I  could  contem- 
plate, so  marvellous  did  it  seem  I 
should  thus  have  approached  her,  and 
had  so  much  of  her  notice  as  she  did 
bestow  on  me  that  day.  And  here  I 
cannot  choose  but  marvel  how  strange- 
ly our  hearts  are  made.  How  favors 
to  ourselves  do  alter  the  current  of 
our  feelings  ;  how  a  near  approach  to 
those  which  at  a  distance  we  do  think 
of  with  unmitigated  enmity,  doth  soft- 
en even  just  resentments  ;  and  what 
a  singular  fascination  doth  lie  in  royal- 
ty for  to  win  unto  itself  a  reverence 
which  doth  obliterate  memories  which 
in  common  instances  should  never  lose 
their  sting. 

The  queen's  barge,  which  had  moor- 
ed at  the  river-side  of  Sir  Francis's 
garden,  was  soon  filled  again  with  the 
goodly  party  it  had  set  down  ;  and  as 
it  went  up  the  stream,  and  I  stood  gaz- 
ing on  it,  methought  the  whole  scene 
had  been  a  dream. 

Lady  Sydney  and  Polly  moved  Sir 
Francis  to  repeat  the  assurance  her 
majesty  had  given  me  touching  the 
commutation  of  my  father's  imprison- 
ment into  an  order  of  banishment.  He 
satisfied  me  thereon,  and  did  promise 
to  procure  for  me  permission  to  s(x* 


Constance  Sherwood. 


him  once  more  before  his  departure ; 
which  interview  did  take  place  on  the 
next  day ;  and  when  I  observed  the 
increased  paleness  of  his  face  and  fee- 
bleness of  his  gait,  the  pain  of  bidding 
that  dear  parent  farewell  equalled  not 
the  joy  I  felt  in  the  hope  that  liberty 
and  the  care  of  those  good  friends  to 
whose  society  he  would  now  return, 
should  prolong  and  cheer  the  remain- 
ing days  of  his  life.  Methinks  there 
was  some  sadness  in  him  that  the 
issue  he  had  so  resolutely  prepared 
for,  and  confidently  looked  to,  should 
be  changed  to  one  so  different,  and 
that  only  by  means  of  death  would  he 
have  desired  to  leave  the  English  mis- 
sion ;  but  he  meekly  bowed  his  will  to 
that  of  God,  and  said  in  an  humble 
manner  he  was  not  worthy  of  so  ex- 
alted an  end  as  he  had  hoped  for,  and 
he  refused  not  to  live  if  so  be  he 
might  yet  serve  God  in  obscure  and 
unnoticed  ways. 

When  I  returned  home  after  this 
comfortable,  albeit  very  sad,  parting, 
I  was  too  weary  in  body  and  in  mind 
for  to  do  aught  but  lie  down  for  a 
while  on  a  settle,  and  revolve  in  my 
mind  the  changes  which  had  taken 
place  around  mo.  Hubert  caiie  for 
a  brief  time  that  evening;  and  me- 
thinks he  had  heard  from  Polly  the 
haps  at  Seething  Lane.  He  strove 
for  to  move  me  to  speak  of  the  queen, 
and  to  tell  him  the  very  words  she 
had  uttered.  The  eager  sparkling  of  his 
eyes,  the  ill-repressed  smilingness  of  his 
countenance,  the  manner  of  his  ques- 
tioning, worked  in  me  a  secret  anger, 
which  caused  the  thanks  I  gave  him 
for  his  successful  dealings  in  my  fa- 
ther's behalf  to  come  more  coldly  from 
mine  heart  than  they  should  otherwise 
have  done,  albeit  I  strove  to  frame 
them  in  such  kind  terms  as  were  be- 
fitting the  great  service  he  had  ren- 
dered us.  But  to  disguise  my 
thoughts  my  tongue  at  last  refused, 
and  I  burst  forth : 

"  But,  for  all  that  I  do  thank  you, 
Hubert,  yea,  and  am  for  ever  indebted 
to  you,  which  you  will  never  have 
reason,  from  my  conduct  and  exceed- 


ingly kind  sisterly  love,  to  doubt :  bear 
with  me,  I  pray  you,  when  I  say  (al- 
beit you  may  think  me  a  very  foolish 
creature)  that  I  wish  you  not  joy,  but 
rather  for  your  sake  do  lament,  the 
new  favor  you  do  stand  in  with  the 
queen.  O  Hubert,  bethink  you,  ere 
you  set  your  foot  on  the  first  step  or 
that  slippery  ladder,  court  favor,  that 
no  man  can  serve  two  masters." 

"  Marry,"  he  answered  in  a  light 
manner,  "  by  that  same  token  or  text, 
papists  can  then  not  serve  the  queen 
and  also  the  Pope !" 

There  be  nothing  which  so  chilleth 
or  else  cutteth  the  heart  as  a  jesting 
retort  to  a  fervent  speech. 

I  hid  my  face  on  my  arm  to  hide 
some  tears. 

"  Constance,"  he  softly  said,  seeing 
me  moved,  "  do  you  weep  for  me  ?" 

"  Yea,"  I  murmured ;  "  God  know- 
eth  what  these  new  friendships  and 
this  dangerous  favor  shall  work  in 
you  contrary  to  conscience,  truth,  and 
virtue.  Oh !  heaven  shield  Basil's 
brother  should  be  a  favorite  of  the 
queen !" 

"Talk  not  of  Basil,"  he  fiercely  cried, 
"  I  warrant  you  the  day  may  be 
at  hand  when  his  fate  shall  hang 
on  my  favor  with  those  who  can  make 
and  mar  a  inan,  or  ruin  and  mend  his 
fortunes,  as  they  will,  by  one  stroke  of 
a  pen  !" 

"  Yea,"  I  replied ;  "  I  doubt  not  his 
fortune  is  at  their  mercy.  His  soul, 
God  be  praised,  their  arts  cannot 
reach." 

"  Constance,"  he  then  said,  fixedly 
gazing  on  me,  "  if  you  only  love  me, 
there  is  no  ambition  too  noble,  no 
heights  of  virtue  too  exalted,  no  sac- 
rifices too  entire,  but  I  will  aim  at,  as- 
pire to,  resolve  on,  at  your  bidding." 

"Love  your  I  said,  raising  mine 
eyes  to  his,  somewhat  scornfully  I 
fear,  albeit  not  meaning  it,  if  I  judge 
by  his  sudden  passion. 

«  God  defend,"  he  cried,  « I  do  not 
arrive  at  hating  you  with  as  great 
fervency  as  I  have,  yea,  as  even  yet  I 
do  love  you  !  O  Constance,  if  I  should 
one  day  be  what  I  do  yet  abhor  to  think 


CoM-ance  Sherwood, 


189 


of,  lliG  guilt  thereof  shall  lie  with  you 
if  there  be  justice  on  earth  or  in 
heaven  !" 

I.  shook  my  head,  and  laying  my 
hand  on  his,  sadly  answered : 

''  1  choose  not  to  bandy  words  with 
you,  Hubert,  or  charge  you  with  what, 
if  I  spoke  the  truth,  would  be  too 
keen  and  resentful  reproaches  for 
your  unbrotherly  manner  of  dealing 
with  Basil  and  me ;  for  it  would  ill 
become  the  close  of  this  day,  on 
which  I  do  owe  you,  under  God,  my 
dear  father's  life,  to  upbraid  where  I 
would  fain  only  from  my  heart  yield 
thanks.  I  pray  you,  let  us  part  in 
peace.  My  strength  is  well-nigh 
spent  and  my  head  acheth  sorely." 

He  knelt  down  by  my  side,  and 
whispered,  "  One  word  more  before  I 
go.  You  do  hold  in  your  keeping 
Basil's  fate  and  mine.  I  will  not  for- 
sake the  hope  that  alone  keepeth  me 
from  desperation.  Hush !  say  not  the 
word  which  would  change  me  from  a 
friend  to  a  foe,  from  a  Catholic  to  an 
apostate,  from  a  man  to  a  fiend.  I 
have  gone  well-nigh  into  the  gate  of 
hell;  a  slender  thread  yet  holds  me 
back ;  snap  it  not  in  twain." 

I  spoke  not,  for  verily  my  tongue 
clove  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  and  a 
fainting  sensation  of  a  sudden  came 
over  me.  I  felt  his  lips  pressed  on 
my  hand,  and  then  he  left  me  ;  and 
that  night  I  felt  very  ill,  and  for  nigh 
unto  a  fortnight  could  by  no  means 
leave  my  bed. 

One  morning,  being  somewhat 
easier,  I  sat  up  in  a  high-backed  chair, 
in  what  had  once  been  our  school- 
room ;  and  when  Muriel,  who  had 
been  a  most  dihgent  nurse  to  me  in 
that  sickness,  came  to  visit  me,  I 
pressed  her  for  to  tell  me  truly  if  she 
liad  heard  aught  of  Basil  or  of  Mis- 
tress Ward;  for  every  day  when  I 
had  questioned  her  thereon  she  had 
denied  all  knowledge  of  their  haps, 
which  noAV  began  to  work  in  me  a 
suspicion  she  did  conceal  from  me 
some  misfortune,  which  doubt,  I  told 
her,  was  more  grievous  to  me  than  to 
be  informed  what  had  befallen  them ; 


and  so  constrained  her  to  admit  that, 
albeit  of  Basil  she  had  in  truth  no 
tidings,  which  she  judged  to  be  flxvor- 
able  to  our  hopes,  of  Mistress  Ward 
she  had  heard,  in  the  first  instance,  a 
report,  eight  or  ten  days  before,  that 
she  had  been  hung  up  by  the  hands 
and  cruelly  scourged ;  which  torments 
she  was  said  by  the  jailors,  which  Mr. 
Lacy  had  spoken  with,  to  have  borne 
with  exceeding  great  courage,  saying 
they  were  the  preludes  of  martyrdom, 
with  which,  by  the  grace  of  God,  she 
hoped  she  should  be  honored.  Then 
Mr.  Roper  and  Mr.  Wells,  who  was 
now  returned  to  London,  had  brought 
tidings  the  evening  before  that  on  the 
preceding  day  she  had  been  brought 
to  the  bar,  where,  being  asked  by  the 
judges  if  she  was  guilty  of  that 
treachery  to  the  queen  and  to  the  laws 
of  the  realm  of  furnishing  the  means 
by  which  a  traitor  of  a  priest  had  es- 
caped from  justice,  she  answered  with 
a  cheerful  countenance  in  the  affirma- 
tive ;  and  that  she  never  in  her  life 
had  done  anything  of  which  she  less 
repented  than  of  the  delivering  that 
innocent  lamb  frofti  the  wolves  which 
should  have  devoured  him. 

"  Oh,  Muriel,"  1  cried,  "  cannot  you 
see  her  dear  resolved  face  and  the 
lighting  up  of  her  eyes,  and  the  quick 
foshion  of  her  speech,  when  she  said 
this?" 

"  I  do  picture  her  to  myself,"  Muriel 
answered  in  a  low  voice,  "  at  all  hours 
of  the  day,  and  marvel  at  mine  own 
quietness  therein.  But  I  doubt  not 
her  prayers  do  win  for  me  the  grace 
of  resignation.  They  sought  to  oblige 
her  to  confess  where  Mr.  Watson  was, 
but  in  vain ;  and  therefore  they  pro- 
ceeded to  pronounce  sentence  upon 
her.  But  withal  telling  her  that  the 
queen  was  merciful,  and  that  if  she 
would  ask  pardon  of  her  majesty,  and 
would  promise  to  go  to  church,  she 
should  be  set  at  liberty;  otherwise 
that  she  must  look  for  nothing  but 
certain  death." 

I  drew  a  deep  breath  then,  and  said, 
"  The  issue  is,  then,  not  doubtful." 

"  She  answered,"  Muriel  said, "  that 


190 


Constance  Sherwood. 


as  to  the  queen,  she  had  never  offended 
her  majesty;  that  as  to  what  she  had 
done  in  favoring  Mr.  Watson's  escape, 
she  believed  the  queen  herself,  if  she 
had  the  bowels  of  a  woman,  would 
have  done  as  much  if  she  had  known 
the  ill-treatment  he  underwent;  and 
as  to  going  to  church,  she  had  for 
many  years  been  convinced  that  it 
was  not  lawful  for  her  so  to  do,  and 
that  she  found  no  reason  now  for  to 
change  her  mind,  and  would  not  act 
against  her  conscience ;  and  therefore 
they  might  proceed  to  the  execu- 
tion of  the  sentence  pronounced 
against  her ;  for  that  death  for  such  a 
cause  w^ould  be  very  welcome,  and 
that  she  was  willing  to  lay  dovrn  not 
one  life  only,  but  many,  if  she  had 
them,  rather  than  act.  against  her  re- 
ligion." 

"  And  she  is  then  condemned  to 
death  without  any  hope  ?"  I  said. 

Muriel  remained  silent. 

"  Oh,  Muriel !"  I  cried ;  "  it  is  not 
done  ?  it  is  not  over  ?" 

She  wiped  one  tear  that  trickled 
down  her  cheek,  and  said,  "  Yesterday 
she  suffered  at  Tyburn  with  a  wonder- 
ful coi^stancy  and  alacrity." 

I  hid  my  face  in  my  hands  ;  for  the 
sight  of  the  familiar  room,  of  the  chair 
in  which  she  was  sitting  what  time  she 
took  leave  of  us,  of  a  little  picture 
pinned  to  the  wall,  which  she  had 
gifted  me  with,  moved  me  too  much. 
But  when  I  closed  mine  eyes,  there 
arose  remembrances  of  my  journeying 
with  her ;  of  my  foolish  speeches 
touching  robbers  ;  of  her  motherly  re- 
proofs of  my  so  great  confidence,  and 
comfort  in  her  guidance ;  and  I  ^vas 
fain  to  seek  comfort  from  her  who 
should  have  needed  it  rather  than  me, 
but  who  indeed  had  it  straight  from 
heaven,  and  thereby  could  impart  some 
share  of  it  to  others. 

"  Muriel,"  I  said,  resting  my  tired 
head  on  her  bosom,  "  the  day  you  say 
she  suffered,  I  now  mind  me,  I  was 
most  ill,  and  you  tended  me  as  cheer- 
fully ti^,  if  you  had  no  grief." 

''Oh,  'tis  no  common  grief,"  she 
answered,   "no  casting-down  sorrow. 


her  end  doth  cause  me ;  rather  some 
kind  of  holy  jealousy,  some  over-eager 
pining  to  follow  her." 

A  waiting-woman  then  came  in,  and 
I  saw  her  give  a  letter  to  Muriel,  who 
I  noticed  did  strive  to  hide  it  from  me. 
But  I  detected  it  in  her  hand,  and 
cried,  "  'Tis  from  Basil ;  how  hath  it 
come?"  and  took  it  from  her;  but 
trembling  so  much,  my  lingers  could 
scarce  untie  the  strings,  for  I  was  yet 
very  unwell  from  my  sickness. 

"  Mr.  Hodgson  hath  sent  it,"  quoth 
Muriel ;  "  God  yield  it  be  good  news  !" 

Then  my  eyes  fell  on  the  loved 
writing,  and  read  what  doth  follow : 

"  Dear  Heart  and  sweet  Wife 
soon  to  be— God  be  praised,  we  are 
now  safe  in  port  at  Calais,  but  have 
not  lacked  dangers  in  our  voyage. 
But  all  is  well,  I  ween,  that  doth  end 
well ;  and  I  do  begin  my  letter  w^ith 
the  tokens  of  that  good  ending  that 
mine  own  sweet  love  should  have  no 
fears,  only  much  thankfulness  to  God, 
whilst  she  doth  read  of  the  perils  we 
have  escaped.  We  carried  Mr.  Wat- 
son— Tom  and  I  and  two  others — Into 
the  boat,  on  the  evening  of  .the  da}- 
when  I  last  saw  you,  and  made  for  the 
Dutch  vessel  out  at  sea  near  the  river's 
mouth.  The  light  was  waning,  but 
not  yet  so  far  gone  but  that  objects 
were  discernible ;  and  we  had  not 
rowed  a  very  long  time  before  wc 
heard  a  splashing  of  oars  behind  us, 
and  turning  round,  what  should  we  see 
but  one  of  the  Queen's  barges,  and  by 
the  floating  pennon  at  the  stern  discerii- 
ed  her  majesty  to  be  on  board  !  AVe 
hastily  turned  our  boat,  and  I  my  back 
toward  the  bank ;  threw  a  cloak  over 
Mr.  Watson,  who,  by  reason  of  his 
broken  limbs,  was  lying  on  a  mattress 
a^  the  bottom  of  it ;  and  Tom  and  tlie 
others  feigned  to  be  fishing.  When 
the  royal  barge  passed  by,  some  one 
did  shout,  railing  at  us  for  that  we  did 
fish  in  the  dark,  and  a  storm  coming  uj 
the  river ;  and  verily  it  did  of  a  sud  I  'n 
begin  to  blow  very  strong.  Sund.-y 
small  craft  were  coming  from  the  se:^. 
into  the  river  for  shelter;  and  as  they 
did  meet   us,  expressed    marvel    we 


Constance  Sherwood. 


igi 


sliould  adventure  forth,  jeering  us  for 
our  thinking  to  catch  iish  raid  a  storm 
menacing*  None  of  us,  albeit  good 
rowers,  were  much  skilled  in  the  mari- 
ner's art;  but  we  commended  ourselves 
to  God  and  went  onward  all  the 
night ;  and  wlien  the  morning  was 
bireaking,  to  our  unspeakable  comfort, 
we  discovered  the  l3utch  vessel  but  a 
i'ew  strokes  distant  at  anchor,  when,  as 
we  bethought  ourselves  nearly  in 
safety,  a  huge  rolling  wave  (for  now 
the  weather  had  waxed  exceedingly 
rough)  upset  our  boat/' 


O   Muriel,"  I    exclaimed. 


that 


night  I  tossed  about  in  a  high  fever, 
and  saw  Basil  come  dripping  wet  at 
the  foot  of  my  bed :  I  warrant  you 
'twas  second  sight." 

"  Read  on,  read  on,"  Muriel  said  ; 
*•  nor  delude  yourself  touching  vis- 
ions." 

"  Tom,  the  otlior  boatman,  and  I, 
being  good  swimmers,  soon  regained 
the  boat,  the  which  floated  keel  up- 
wards, whereon  we  climbed,  but  well- 
nigh  demented  were  we  to  find  Mr. 
AVatson  could  nowhere  be  seen.  In 
desperation  I  plunged  again  into  the 
sea,  swimming  at  hazard,  with  diffi- 
culty buffeting  the  waves  ;  when  nearly 
spent  I  descried  the  good  priest,  and 
seized  him  in  a  most  unmannerly 
fashion  by  the  collar,  and  dragging  him 
along,  made  shift  to  regain  the  floating 
keel;  and  Tom,  climbing  to  the  top, 
waved  high  his  kerchief,  hoping  to  be 
seen  by  the  Dutchman,  who  by  good 
hap  did  espy  our  signal.  Soon  had 
we  the  joy  to  see  a  boat  lowered  and 
advance  toward  us.  With  much  dif- 
ficulty it  neared  us,  by  reason  of  the 
fury  of  the  waves  ;  but,  God  be  thank- 
ed, it  did  at  last  reach  us ;  and  Mr. 
Watson,  insensible  and  motionless, 
was  hoisted  therein,  and  soon  in  safety 
conveyed  on  board  the  vessel.  I  much 
feared  for  his  life ;  for,  I  pray  you, 
\7as  such  a  cold,  long  bath,  succeeding 
o  a  painful  exposed  night,  meet  medi- 
cine for  broken  limbs,  and  the  fever 
which  doth  accompany  such  hurts  ?  I 
wot  not ;  but  yet,  God  be  praised,  he 
ii  now  in  the  hospital  of  a  monastery 


in  this  town,  well  tended  and  cared 
for,  and  the  leeches  do  assure  me  like 
to  do  well.  Thou  mayest  think,  sweet- 
heart, that  after  seeing  him  safely 
stowed  in  that  good  lodgment,  I  waited 
not  for  to  change  my  clothes  or  brea!: 
my  fast,  before  I  went  to  the  church  ; 
and  on  my  knees  blessed  the  Almighty 
for  his  protection,  and  hung  a  thank- 
offering  on  to  our  Lady's  image  ;  for  I 
warrant  you,  when  I  was  fishing  for 
Mr.  Watson  in  that  raging  sea,  I  miss- 
ed not  to  put  up  Hail  Marys  as 
fast  as  I  could  think  them,  for  be- 
shrew  me  if  I  had  breath  to  spare  for 
to  utter.  I  do  now  pen  this  letter  at 
my  good  friend  Mr.  Wells's  brother's, 
and  Tom  will  take  it  with  him  to  Lon- 
don, and  Mr.  Hodgson  convey  it  to 
thee.  Thy  affectionate  and  humble 
obedient  (albeit  intending  to  lord  it 
over  thee  some  coming  day)  servant 
and  lover,         Basil  Rookwood. 

"  Oh,  how  the  days  do  creep  till  I 
be  out  of  my  wardship!  Methinks  I 
do  feel  somewhat  like  Mrs.  Helen  In- 
goldsby,  who  doth  hate  patience,  she 
saith,  by  reason  that  it  doth  always 
keep  her  waiting.  I  would  not  be 
patient,  sweet  one,  I  fear,  if  impatience 
would  carry  me  quicker  to  thy  dear 
side." 

"  Well,"  said  Muriel,  sweetly  smil- 
ing when  I  had  finished  reading  this 
comfortable  letter,  "the  twain  which 
we  have  accompanied  this  past  fort- 
night with  our  thoughts  and  prayers 
have  both,  God  be  praised,  escaped 
from  a  raging  sea  into  a  safe  harbor, 
albeit  not  of  the  same  sort— the  one 
earthly,  the  other  heavenly.  Oh,  but 
I  am  very  glad,  dear  Constance,  thou 
art  spared  a  greater  trial  than  hath 
yet  touched  thee !"  and  so  pure  a  joy 
beamed  in  her  eyes,  that  methought  no 
one  more  truly  fulfilled  that  bidding, 
"  to  rejoice  with  such  as  rejoice,  as 
well  as  to  weep  with  such  as  weep." 

This  letter  of  my  dear  Basil  hasten- 
ed my  recovery  ;  and  three  days  later, 
having  received  an  invitation  thereun- 
to, I  went  to  visit  the  Countess  of  Sur- 
rey, now  also  of  Arundel,  at  Arundel 
House.     The  trouble  she  was  in  by 


192 


Constance  Sherwood, 


reason  oP  her  gran^lflitlior's  death,  and 
of  my  Ladj  Lumlcj's,  who  had  preced- 
ed her  father  to  the  grave,  exceeded 
anything  she  had  yet  endured.  The 
earl  her  husband  continued  the  same 
hard  usage  toward  her,  and  never  so 
much  as  came  to  visit  her  at  that  time 
of  her  affliction,  but  remained  in  Nor- 
folk, attending  to  his  sports  of  hunting 
and  the  like.  Howsoever,  as  he  had 
!?atisfied  her  uncles,  Mr.  Francis  and 
Mr.  Leonard  Dacre,  Mr.  James  La- 
bourn,  and  also  Lord  Montague,  and 
his  ow^n  sister  Lady  Margaret  Sack- 
ville,  and  likewise  Lord  Thomas  and 
Lord  William  Howard,  his  brothers, 
that  he  put  not  in  any  doubt,  albeit 
words  to  that  ciFecfc  had  once  escaped 
him,  the  validity  of  his  marriage,  she, 
with  great  wisdom  and  patience,  and 
prudence  very  commendable  in  one  of 
her  years,  being  destitute  of  any  fitting 
])lace  to  dwell  in,  resolved  to  return  to 
ins  house  in  London.  At  the  which 
at  first  he  seemed  not  a  little  displeas- 
ed, but  yet  took  no  measures  for  to 
drive  her  from  it.  And  in  the  order- 
ing of  the  household  and  care  of  his 
pi'operty  manifested  the  same  zeal, 
•  and  obtained  the  same  good  results,  as 
she  had  procured  whilst  she  lived  at 
Kenninghall.  Methought  she  had 
waxed  older  by  some  years,  not  weeks, 
since  I  had  seen  her,  so  staid  and  com- 
posed had  become  the  fashion  of  her 
speech  and  of  her  carriage.  She  con- 
versed with  me  on  mine  own  troubles 
and  comforts,  and  the  various  and  op- 
posite haps  which  had  befallen  me ; 
which  I  told  her  served  to  strengthen 
in  me  my  early  thinking,  that  sorrows 
are  oftentimes  so  intermixed  with  joys 
that  our  lives  do  more  resemble  varia- 
ble April  days  than  the  cloudless  skies 
of  June,  or  the  dark  climate  of  win- 
ter. 

Wliilst  we  did  thus  discourse,  mine 
eyes  fell  on  a  quaint  piece  of  work  in 
vsilk  and  silver,  which  was  lying  on  a 
table,  as  if  lately  unfolded.  Lady 
Arundel  smiled  in  a  somewhat  sad 
fashion,  and  said : 

"  I  warrant  thou  art  curious,  Con- 
stance, to  examine  that  piece  of  em- 


broidery; and  verily  as  ragards  the 
hands  wliich  hath  worked  it,  and  the 
kind  intent  with  which  it  was  wrought, 
a  more  notable  one  should  not  easily 
be  found.  Look  at  it,  and  see  if  thou 
canst  read  the  ingenious  msaning  of 
it." 

This  was  the  design  therein  ex- 
ecuted with  exceeding  great  neatness 
and  beauty  :  there  was  a  tree  framed, 
whereon  two  turtle-doves  sat,  on  either 
side  one,  with  this  difi:erence,  that  by 
that  on  the  right  hand  there  were  two 
or  three  green  leaves  remaining,  by 
the  other  none  at  all — the  tree  on  that 
side  being  wholly  bare.  Over  the  top 
of  the  tree  were  these  words,  wrought 
in  silver :  "  Amoris  sorte  pares."  At 
the  bottom  of  the  tree,  on  the  side 
where  the  first  turtle-dove  did  sit  by 
the  green  leaves,  these  words  were 
also  embroidered :  "  Hiec  ademptum," 
with  an  anchor  under  them.  On  the 
other  side,  under  the  other  dove,  were 
these  words,  in  like  manner  wrought  : 
"Ilia  peremptum,"  with  pieces  of 
broken  board  underneath. 

"  See  you  what  this  doth  mean  ?" 
the  countess  asked. 

"'  Nay,"  I  answered ;  "  my  wit  i3 
herein  at  fault." 

"  You  will,"  she  said,  "  when  yo:i 
know  whence  this  gift  comes  to  me. 
Methought,  save  by  a  few  near  to  me 
in  blood,  or  by  marriage  connected, 
and  one  or  two  friends — thou,  my 
Constance,  being  the  chiefesi; — I  was 
unknown  to  all  the  world ;  but  a  sad 
royal  heart  having  had  notice,  in  the 
midst  of  its  own  sore  griefs,  how  the 
earl  my  husband  doth,  through  evil 
counsel,  absent  and  estrange  himself 
from  me,  partly  to  comfort,  and  partly 
to  show  her  love  to  one  she  once 
thought  should  be  her  daughter-in- 
law,  for  a  token  thereof  she  sent  me 
this  gift,  contrived  by  her  own  think- 
ing, and  wrought  with  her  own  hands. 
Those  tw^o  doves  do  represent  herself 
and  me.  On  my  side  an  anchor  and 
a  few  green  leaves  (symbols  of  hope), 
show  I  may  yet  flourish,  because  my 
lord  is  alive  ;  though,  by  reason  of  Ium 
absence  and  unkindness,  I  mourn  as  a 


Constance  Sherwood, 


193 


lone  tui-tlc-dovc.  But  the  bare  boughs 
and  broken  boards  on  her  side  signify 
that  her  hopes  arc  wliollj  wrecked  by 
the  death  of  the  duke,  for  whom  she 
doth  mourn  witliout  hope  of  comfort 
or  redress." 

The  pathetic  manner  in  which  Lady 
Arundel  made  this  speech  moved  me 
ahnost  to  tears. 

"  If  PhlHp,"  she  said,  "  doth  visit  me 
again  at  any  time,  I  will  hang  up  this 
ingenious  conceit  where  he  should  see 
it.  Methinks  it  will  recall  to  him  the 
l)ast,  and  move  him  to  show  me  kind- 
ness. Help  me,  Constance,"  she  said 
after  a  pause,  "  for  to  compose  such  an 
answer  as  my  needle  can  express, 
\viiich  shall  convey  to  this  royal  pris- 
oner both  thanks,  and  somewhat  of 
hope  also,  albeit  not  of  the  sort  she 
doth  disclaim." 

I  mused  for  a  while,  and  then  with 
a  pencil  drew  a  pattern  of  a  hke  tree 
to  that  of  the  Scottish  queen's  design  ; 
and  the  dove  which  did  typify  the 
Countess  of  Arundel  I  did  represent 
fastened  to  the  branch,  whereon  she 
sat  and  mourned,  by  many  strings 
wound  round  her  heart,  and  tied  to  the 
anchor  of  an  earthly  hope,  whereas 
the  one  which  was  the  symbol  of  the 
forlorn  royal  captive  did  spread  her 
wings  toward  the  sky,  unfettered  by 
the  shattered  relics  strewn  at  her  feet. 
Lady  Arundel  put  her  arm  round  my 
neck,  and  said  she  liked  well  this  de- 
sign ;  and  bade  me  for  to  pray  for  her, 
that  the  invisible  strings,  which  verily 
did  restrain  in  her  heavenward  mo- 
tions, should  not  always  keep  her 
from  soaring  thither  where  only  true 
joys  are  to  be  found. 

During  some  succeeding  weeks  I 
often  visited  her,  and  we  wrought  to- 
gether at  the  same  frame  in  the  work- 
ing of  this  design,  which  she  had  set 
on  hand  by  a  cunning  artificer  from 
ihe  rough  pattern  I  had  drawn.  Much 
i:ilk  the  while  was  ministered  between 
us  touching  religion,  which  did  more 
and  more  engage  her  thoughts  ;  Mr. 
15ayley,  a  Catholic  gentleman  who  be- 
longed to  the  earl  her  husband,  and 
whom  she  did  at  that  time  employ  to 


carry  relief  to  sick  and  poor  persons, 
helping  her  greatly  therein,  being  well 
instructed  himself,  and  haunting  such 
priests  as  did  reside  secretly  in  Lon- 
don at  that  time. 

About  the  period  when  Basil  was 
expected  to  return,  my  health  was 
again  much  affected,  not  so  sharp- 
ly as  before,  but  a  weakness  and  fail- 
ing of  strength  did  show  the  effects  of 
such  sufferings  as  I  had  endured, 
Hubert's  behavior  did  tend  at  that 
time  for  to  keep  me  in  great  uneasi- 
ness. When  he  came  to  the  house, 
albeit  he  spake  but  seldom  to  me,  if 
we  ever  were  alone  he  gave  sundry 
hints  of  a  persistent  hope  and  a  pos- 
sible desperation,  mingled  with  vague 
threats,  which  disturbed  me  more  than 
can  be  thought  of.  Methinks  Kate, 
Polly,  and  Muriel  held  council  touch- 
ing my  health ;  and  thence  arose  a 
very  welcome  proposal,  from  my  Lady 
Tregony,  that  I  should  visit  her  at 
her  seat  in  Norfolk,  close  on  the  bor- 
ders of  Suffolk,  whither  she  had  re- 
tired since  Thomas  Sherwood's  death. 
Polly,  who  had  a  good  head  and  a 
good  heart,  albeit  too  light  a  mind, 
forecasted  the  comfort  it  should  be  to 
Basil  and  me,  when  he  returned,  to  be 
so  near  neighbors  until  we  were  mar- 
ried (which  could  not  be  before  some 
months  after  he  came  of  ago),  that  we 
could  meet  every  day;  Lady  Tre- 
gony's  seat  being  only  three  miles  dis- 
tant from  Euston.  They  wrote  to 
him  thereon ;  and  when  his  answer 
came,  the  joy  he  expressed  was  such 
that  nothing  could  be  greater.  And 
on  a  fair  day  in  the  spring,  when  the 
blossoms  of  the  pear  and  apple-trees 
were  showing  on  the  bare  branches, 
even  as  my  hopes  of  coming  joys  did  ' 
bud  afresh  after  long  pangs  of  separa- 
tion, I  rode  from  London,  by  slow 
journeys,  to  Banham  Hall,  and  amidst 
the  sweet  silence  of  rural  scenes,  quiet 
fields,  and  a  small  but  convenient 
house,  where  I  was  greeted  with  ma- 
ternal kindness  by  ewe  in  whom  age 
retained  the  Avarmth  of  heart  of  youth, 
I  did  regain  so  much  strength  and! 
good   looks,   that   when,   one   day,  a- 


194 


Constance  Sherwood, 


horseman,  when  I  least  thought  of  it, 
rode  to  the  door,  and  I  turned  white 
and  red  in  tarns,  speechless  with  de- 
light, perceiving  it  to  be  Basil,  he  took 
me  by  boih  hands,  looked  into  my  face 
and  cried : 

'•  Hang  the  leeches  !  Suffolk  air 
was  all  thou  didst  need,  for  all  they  did 
so  fright  me." 

"Norfolk  air,  I  pray  you,"  quoth 
my  Lady  Tregony,  smiling. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  quoth  Basil.  '•  It 
doth  blow  over  the  border  from  Suf- 
folk." 

"  Happiness,  leastways,  bloweth 
thence,"  I  whispered. 

"Yea"  he  answered;  for  he  was 
noi  one  fo?  to  make  long  speeches. 

But,  ah  me  !  the  sight  of  him  was  a 
cure  to  all  mine  ailments. 


CHAPTEK  XXI. 

It  is  not  to  be  credited  with  how 
great  an  admixture  of  pleasure  and 
pain  I  do  set  myself  to  my  daily 
task  of  writing,  for  the  thought 
of  those  spring  and  summer  months 
spent  in  Lady  Tregony's  house  doth 
stir  up  old  feelings,  the  sweetness 
of  which  hath  yet  some  bitterness  in 
it,  which  T  would  fain  separate  from 
the  memories  of  that  happy  time. 

Basil  had  taken  up  his  abode  at 
Euston,  whither  I  so  often  went  and 
whence  he  so  often  came,  that  me- 
thinks  we  could  both  have  told  (for 
mine  own  part  I  can  jet  do  it,  even 
after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years)  the 
shape  of  each  tree,  the  rising  of  each 
bank,  the  every  winding  of  the  fail' 
river  Ouse  betwixt  one  house  and  the 
other.  Yea,  when  I  now  sit  down  on  the 
shore,  gazing  on  the  far-off  sea,  be- 
tliinklng  myself  it  doth  break  on  the 
coast  of  England,  I  sometimes  newly 
draw  0:1  memory's  tablet  that  old 
large  house,  the  biggest  in  all  Suffolk, 
albeit  homely  in  its  exterior  and  inte- 
rior plainness,  which  sitteth  in  a  green 
hollow  between  two  graceful  swelling 
hills.     Its  opposite  meadows  starred 


in  the  spring-tide  with  so  many  dai- 
sies and  buttercups  that  the  grass 
scantily  showeth  amidst  these  gay  in- 
truders ;  the  ascending  walk,  a  mile 
in  length,  with  four  rows  of  ash-trees 
on  each  side,  the  tender  green  of 
which  in  those  early  April  days  mocked 
the  sober  tints  of  the  darksome  tufis  oi 
fir ;  and  the  noble  deer  underneath 
the  old  oaks,  carrying  in  a  stately 
manner  their  horned  heads,  and  dart- 
ing along  the  glades  with  so  swift  a 
course  that  the  eye  could  scarce  fol- 
low them.  But  mostly  the  little  wood- 
en bridge  where,  when  Basil  did  fish, 
I  was  wont  to  sit  and  watch  the  sport, 
I  said,  but  verily  him,  of  whose  sight 
I  was  somewhat  covetous  after  his 
long  absence.  And  I  mind  me  that 
one  day  when  we  were  thus  seated,  he 
on  the  margin  of  the  stream  and  I 
leaning  against  the  bridge,  we  held  an 
argument  touching  country  diversions, 
which  began  in  this  wise  : 

"  Methinks,"  I  said,  "  of  all  dis- 
ports fishing  hath  this  advantage,  that 
if  one  faileth  in  the  success  he  looketh 
ibr,  he  hath  at  least  a  wholesome 
walk,  a  sweat  air,  a  fragrant  savor  of 
the  mead  flowers.  He  seeth  the 
young  swans,  herons,  ducks,  and  many 
other  fowls  with  their  broods,  which  is 
surely  better  than  the  noise  of  hounds, 
the  blast  of  horns,  and  the  cries  the 
hunters  make.  And  if  it  be  in  part 
usedibr  the  increasing  of  the  body's 
health  and  the  solace  of  the  mind,  it 
can  also  be  advantageously  employed 
for  the  health  of  the  soul,  for  it  is  not 
needful  in  this  diversion  to  have  a 
great  many  persons  with  you,  and  this 
solitude  doth  fiivor  thought  and  th:^ 
serving  of  God  by  sometimes  repeat- 
ing devout  prayers." 

To  this  Basil  replied :  "  That  as 
there  be  many  men,  there  be  also 
many  minds  ;  and,  for  his  part,  when 
the  woods  and  fields  and  skies  seemed 
in  all  one  loud  cry  and  confusion  with 
the  earning  of  the  hounds,  the  gallop- 
ping  of  the  horses,  the  hallowing  of  the 
huntsmen,  and  the  excellent  echo  re- 
sounding from  the  hills  and  valleys, 
he    did   not  think   th^re  could    be  a 


Constance  Sherwood. 


195 


more  delectable  pastime  or  a  more 
tuneable  sound  by  any  degree  than 
this,  and  specially  in  that  place  which 
is  formed  so  meet  for  the  purpose. 
And  if  he  should  wish  anything,  it 
would  be  that  it  had  been  the  time  of 
year  for  it,  and  for  me  to  ride  by  his 
side  on  a  sweet  misty  morning  to  hear 
this  goodly  music  and  to  be  .recreated 
with  this  excellent  diversion.  And 
for  the  matter  of  prayers,"  he  added, 
smiling,  "I  warrant  thee,  sweet 
preacher,  that  as  wholesome  cogita- 
tions touching  Almighty  God  and  his 
goodness,  and  brief  inward  thanking 
of  him  for  good  limbs  and  an  easy 
heart,. have  come  into  my  mind  on  a 
horse's  back  with  a  brave  westerly 
wind  blowing  about  my  head,  as  in 
the  quiet  sitting  by  a  stream  listing  to 
the  fowls  singing." 

"  Oh,  but  Basil,"  I  rejoined,  "  there 
are  more  virtues  to  be  practised  by 
an  angler  than  by  a  hunter." 

"  How  prove  you  that,  sweetheart  ?" 
he  asked. 

Then  I :  "  Well,  he  must  be  of  a 
well-settled  and  constant  belief  to  en- 
joy the  benefit  of  his  expectation.  He 
must  hh  full  of  love  to  his  neighbor, 
that  he  neither  give  offence  in  any 
particular,  nor  be  guilty  of  any  gener- 
al destruction  ;'  then  he  must  be  ex- 
ceeding patient,  not  chafing  in  losing 
the  prey  when  it  is  almost  in  hand,  or 
in  breaking  his  tools,  but  with  pleased 
sufferance,  as  I  have  witnessed  in  thy- 
self, amend  errors  and  think  mis- 
chances instructions  to  better  careful- 
ness. He  must  be  also  full  of  humble 
thoughts,  not  disdaining  to  kneel,  lie 
down,  or  wet  his  fingers  when  occa- 
sion commands.  Then  must  he  be 
prudent,  apprehending  the  reasons 
why  the  fish  will  not  bite ;  and  of  a 
thankful  nature,  showing  a  large 
gratefulness  for  the  least  satisfaction." 

"  Tut,  tu' ,"  Basil  replied,  laughing ; 
"  thinkest  thou  no  patience  be  needful 
when  the  dogs  do  lose  the  scent,  or 
your  horse  refuseth  to  take  a  gate  ; 
no  prudonce  to  forecast  which  way  to 
turn  when  the  issue  be  doubtful ;  no 
humility  to  brook  a  fall  with  twenty 


fellows  passing  by  a-jeering  of  you ; 
no  thankfulness  your  head  be  not 
broken  ;  no  love  of  your  neighbor  for 
to  abstain  in  the  heat  of  the  chase 
from  treading  down  his  corn,  or  for  to 
make  amends  when  it  be  done  ?  Go 
to,  go  to,  sweetheart ;  thou  art  a  dex- 
trous pleader,  but  hast  failed  to  prove 
thy  point.  Methinks  there  doth  ex- 
ist greater  temptations  for  to  swear  or 
to  quarrel  in  hunting  than  in  fishing, 
and,  if  resisted,  more  excellent  virtues 
then  observed.  One  day  last  year, 
when  I  was  in  Cheshire,  Sir  Peter 
Lee  of  Lime  did  invite  me  to  hunt  the 
stag,  and  there  being  a  great  stag  in 
chase  and  many  gentlemen  hot  in  the 
pursuit,  the  stag  took  soil,  and  divers, 
whereof  I  was  one,  alighted  and 
stood  with  sword  drawn  to  have  a  cut 
at  him." 

'•  Oh,  the  poor  stag  !"  I  cried  ;  "  I 
do  always  sorely  grieve  for   him." 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  the  stags 
there  be  wonderfully  fierce  and  dan- 
gerous, which  made  us  youths  more 
eager  to  be  at  him.  But  he  escaped 
us  all ;  and  it  was  my  misfortune  to  be 
hindered  in  my  coming  near  him, 
the  way  being  slippery,  by  a  fall 
which  gave  occasion  to  some  which 
did  not  know  me  to  speak  as  if  I  had 
failed  for  fear ;  which  being  told  me, 
I  followed  the  gentleman  who  first 
spoke  it,  intending  for  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  him,  and,  peradventure,  measure 
my  sword  with  his,  so  be  his  denial 
and  repentance  did  not  appear.  But, 
I  thank  God,  afore  I  reached  him  my 
purpose  had  changed,  and  in  its  slead 
I  turned  back  to  pursue  the  stag,  and 
happened  to  be  the  only  horseman  in 
when  the  dogs  set  him  up  at  bay  ;  and 
approaching  near  him,  he  broke 
through  the  doga  and  ran  at  me,  and 
took  my  horse's  side  v/ith  his  horns. 
Tiien  I  quitted  my  horse,  and  of  a 
sudden  getting  behind  him,  got  on  his 
back  and  cut  his  throat  with  my 
sword." 

"  Alack !"  I  cried,  "  I  do  mislike 
these  bloody  pastimes,  and  love  not 
to  think  of  the  violent  death  of  aay 
living  creature." 


196 


Constance  Sherwood. 


"  Well,  dear  heart,"  he  answered, 
**  I  will  not  make  thee  sad  again  by 
the  mention  of  the  killing  of  so  much 
as  a  rat,  if  it  displeaseth  thee.  But 
truly  I  mislike  not  to  think  of  that 
day,  for  I  warrant  thee,  in  turning 
back  from  the  pursuit  of  that  injuri- 
ous gentleman,  somewhat  more  of  vir- 
tue did  exist  than  it  hath  been  my 
hap  often  to  practice.  For,  look  you, 
sweet  one,  to  some  it  doth  cause  no 
pain  to  forgive  an  injury  which  touch- 
cth  not  their  honor,  or  to  plunge  into 
the  sea  to  fish  out  a  drowning  man ; 
but  to  be  styled  a  coward,  and  yet  to 
act  as  a  Christian  man  should  do,  not 
seeking  for  to  be  revenged,  why,  me- 
thinks,  there  should  be  a  little  merit  in 
it." 

"Yea,"  I  said,  "much  in  every 
way ;  but  truly,  sir,  if  your  thinking 
is  just  that  easy  virtue  is  little  or  no 
virtue,  I  shall  be  the  least  virtuous 
wife  in  the  world." 

Upon  this  he  laughed  so  loud  that 
I  told  him  he  would  fright  all  the 
fishes  away. 

"  r  faith,  let  them  go  if  they  list,"  he 
cried,  and  cast  away  his  rod.  Then 
coming  to  where  I  was  sitting,  he  invit- 
ed me  to  walk  with  him  alongside  the 
stream,  and  then  asked  me  for  to  ex- 
plain my  last  speech. 

"  Why,  Basil,"  I  said,  "  what,  I 
pray  you,  should  be  the  duty  of  a  vir- 
tuous Avife  but  to  love  her  husband  ?" 

So  then  he,  catching  my  meaning, 
smiled  and  replied, 

"  If  that  duty  shall  prove  easy  to 
thy  affectionate  heart,  I  doubt  not  but 
others  will  arise  which  shall  call  for 
the  exercise  of  more  difficult  virtue." 

When  we  came  to  a  sweet  nook, 
where  the  shade  made  it  too  dark  for 
grass  to  grow,  and  only  moss  yielded 
a  soft  carpet  for  the  feet,  we  sat  down 
on  a  shelving  slope  of  broken  stones, 
and  I  exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  Basil,  methinks  we  shall  be 
too  happy  in  this  fair  place  ;  and  I  do 
tax  myself  presently  with  hardness  of 
heart,  that  in  thy  company,  and  the 
forecasting  of  a  blissful  time  to  come, 
I  lose  the  sense  of  recent  sorrows." 


"  God  doth  yield  thee  this  comfort," 
he  answered,  "  for  to  refresh  thy  body 
and  strengthen  thy  soul,  which  have 
both  been  verily  sorely  afflicted  of 
late.  I  Ave  en  he  doth  send  us  breath- 
ing-times with  this  merciful  intent." 

By  such  discourses  as  these  we  en- 
tertained ourselves  at  sundry  times ; 
but  some  of  the  sweetest  hours  we 
spent  were  occupied  in  planning  the  fu- 
ture manner  of  our  lives,  the  good  we 
should  strive  to  do  amongst  our  poor 
neighbors,  and  the  sweet  exercise  of 
Catholic  religion  Ave  should  observe. 

Foreseeing  the  frequent  concealing 
of  priests  in  his  house,  Basil  sent  one 
day  for  a  young  carpenter,  one  Mas- 
ter Owen,  who  hath  since  been  so 
noted  for  the  contriving  of  hiding- 
places  in  all  the  recusants'  houses  in 
England;  and  verily  what  I  noticed 
in  him  during  the  days  he  was  at  work 
at  Euston  did  agree  with  the  great  re- 
pute of  sanctity  he  hath  since  obtain- 
ed. His  so  small  stature,  his  trick  of 
silence,  his  exceeding  recollected  and 
composed  manner  filled  me  Avith  ad- 
miration ;  and  Basil  told  me  nothing 
Avould  serve  him,  the  morning- he  ar- 
rived, Avhen  he  found  a  priest  was  in 
the  house,  but  to  go  to  shrift  and  holy 
communion,  Avhich  was  his  practice, 
before  ever  he  set  to  work  at  his  good 
business.  I  took  much  pleasure  in 
watching  his  progress.  He  scooped 
out  a  cell  in  the  Avails  of  the  gallery, 
contriving  a  door  such  as  I  remember- 
ed at  Sherwood  Hall,  Avhich  none  could 
see  to  open  unless  they  did  know  of 
the  spring.  All  the  time  he  Avas  la- 
boring thereat,  I  could  discern  him  to 
be  praying ;  and  Avhen  he  Avot  not  any 
to  be  near  him,  sang  hymns  in  a  loud 
and  exceeding  sweet  voice.  I  have 
never  observed  in  any  one  a  more  re- 
ligious behavior  than  in  this  youth, 
Avho,  by  his  subtle  and  ingenious  art, 
hath  saved  the  lives  of  many  priests, 
and  procured  mass  to  be  said  in  houses 
Avhere  none  should  have  durst  for  to 
say  or  hear  it  if  a  refuge  of  this  kind 
did  not  exist,  Avhereiu  a  man  may  lie 
ensconced  for  years,  and  none  can  find 
liim,  if  he  come  not  forth  himself. 


I 


Constance  Sherwood. 


[97 


"When  he  was  gone,  other  sort  of 
workmen  were  called  in,  for  to  make 
more  habitable  and  convenient  a  portion 
of  this  large  house.      For  in  this  the 
entire  consenting  of  our  minds  did  ap- 
pear, that  neither  of  us  desired  for  to 
spend  money  on  showy  improvements, 
or  to  inhabit  ten  chambers  when  five 
should  suffice.     What  one   proposed, 
the  other  always  liked  well ;  and  if  in 
tastes  we  did  sometimes  differ,  yet  no 
disagreement  ensued.     For,  albeit  Ba- 
sil cared  not  as  much  as  I  did  for  the 
good  ordering  of  the  library,  his  indul- 
gent kindness  did  nevertheless  incline 
him  to  favor  me  with  a  promise  that 
one  hundred  fair,  commendable  books 
should   be   added   to   those   his  good 
father  had  collected.      He  said   that 
Hubert  should  aid  us  to  choose  these 
goodly   volumes,   holy    treatises,  and 
liistories  in  French  and  English,  if  it 
liked  me,  and  poetry  also.     One  pleas- 
ant chamber  he  did  laughingly  appoint 
for  to  be  the  scholar's  room,  in  the  which 
he  should  never  so  much  as  show  his 
face,  but  Hubert  and  I  read  and  write, 
if  we  listed,  our  very  heads  off.     The 
ancient  chapel  was  now  a  hall ;  and, 
save  some  carving  on  the  walls  which 
could  not  be  recovered,  no  traces  did 
remain  of  its  old  use.     But  at  the  top- 
most part  of  the  house,  at  the  head  of 
a   narrow  staircase,   was   a  chamber 
wherein  mass  was  sometimes  said  ;  and 
since  Basil's  return,  he  had  procured  that 
each  Saturday  a  priest  should  come  and 
spend  the  night  with  him,  for  the  con- 
venience of  all  the  neighboring  Catho- 
lics who  resorted  there  for  to  go  to  their 
duty.     Lady  Trcgony  and  her  house- 
hold— which  were  mostly  Catholic,  but 
had  not  the  same  commodities  in  her 
house,  where   to  conceal  any  one  was 
more  hard,  for  that  it  stood  almost  in 
the   village   of    Fakenham,    and    all 
comyrs  and  goers  proved  visible  to  the 
inhabitants — did  repair   on   Sundays, 
at   break  oF  day,   to   Euston.     How 
sweet   were   those   rides   in   the   fiiir 
morning   light,   the  dew   bespangling 
every   herb   and   tree,   and   the  wild 
flowers  filling  the  air  with  their  fresh 
fragrance !     The  pale  primroses,  the 


azure  harebell,  the  wood-anemone,  and 
the  dark-blue  hyacinth — what  dainty 
nosegays  they  furnished  us  with  for 
our  Blessed  Lady's  altar !  of  which 
the  fairest  image  I  ever  beheld  stood 
in  the  little  secret  chapel  at  Euston. 
Basil  did  much  affection  this  image  of 
Blessed  Mary;  for  as  far  back  as  he 
could  remember  he  had  been  used  to 
say  his  prayers  before  it ;  and  when  his 
mother  died,  he  being  only  seven  years 
of  age,  he  knelt  before  this  so  lively 
representation  of  God's  Mother,  be- 
seeching of  her  to  be  a  mother  to  him 
also;  which  prayer  methinks  verily 
did  take  effect,  his  life  having  been 
marked  by  singular  tokens  of  her  ma- 
ternal care. 

1\\  the  Holy  Week,  which  fell  that 
year  in  the  second  week  of  April,  he 
procured  the  aid  of  three  priests,  and 
had  all  the  ceremonies  performed 
which  do  appertain  to  that  sacred  sea- 
son. On  Wednesday,  toward  evening 
began  Tenebrce^  with  the  mysterious 
candlestick  of  fifteen  lights,  fourteen  of 
them  representing,  by  the  extinguishing 
of  them,  the  disciples  which  forsook 
Christ ;  the  fifteenth  on  the  top,  which 
was  not  put  out,  his  dear  Mother,  who 
from  the  crib  to  the  cross,  was  not 
severed  from  him.  On  Thursday  we 
decked  the  sepulchre  wherein  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  reposed  with  flow- 
ers and  all  such  jewels  as  we  possessed, 
and  namely  with  a  very  fair  diamond 
cross  which  Basil  had  gifted  me  with, 
and  reverently  attended  it  day  and 
night.  "  God  defend,"  I  said  to  Basil, 
when  the  sepulchre  was  removed,  "  I 
should  retain  for  vain  uses  what  was 
lent  to  our  Lord  yester  eve!"  and 
straightway  hung  on  the  cross  to  our 
Lady's  neck.  On  Friday  we  all  crept 
to  the  crucifix,  and  kissing,  bathed  it 
with  our  tears.  On  Saturday  every 
fire  was  extinguished  in  the  house,  and 
kindled  again  with  hallowed  fire. 
Then  ensued  the  benediction  of  the 
paschal  candle,  and  the  rest  of  tlic 
divine  ceremonies,  till  mass.  At 
mass,  as  soon  as  the  priest  pro- 
nounced '''  Gloria  in  excelsis,"  a  cloth, 
contrived  by  Lady  Tregony  and  me. 


198 


Constance  Sherioood. 


and  which  veiled  the  altar,  made  re- 
splendent with  lights  and  flowers,  was 
suddenly  snatched  away,  and  many 
little  bells  we  had  prepared  for  that 
purpose  rung,  in  imitation  of  what 
^vas  done  in  England  in  Catholic  times, 
and  now  in  foreign  countries.  On 
l^a^ler  Sanday,  after  mass,  a  benedic- 
tion was  given  to  divers  sorts  of  meat, 
and,  in  remembrance  of  fhe  Lamb 
sacrificed  two  days  before,  a  great  pro- 
portion of  lamb.  Nigh  one  hundred  re- 
cusants had  repaired  to  Euston  that 
day  for  their  paschal  communion. 
Basil  did  invite  them  all  to  break 
Lent's  neck  with  us,  in  honor  of  Christ's 
joyful  resurrection ;  and  many  bless- 
ings were  showered  that  day,  I  ween, 
on  Master  Kookwood,  and  for  his  sake, 
I  ween,  on  Mistress  Sherwood  also. 
The  sun  did  shine  that  Easter  morning 
with  more  than  usual  brightness.  The 
common  people  do  say  i-t  danceth  for 
joy  at  this  glorious  tide.  For  my 
part,  methought  it  had  a  rare  youthful 
brilliancy,  more  cheering  than  hot, 
more  hghtsome  than  dazzling.  All 
nature  seemed  to  rejoice  that  Christ 
was  risen  ;  and  pastoral  art  had 
devised  arches  of  flowers  and  gay 
wreaths  hanging  from  pole  to  pole  and 
gladdening  every  thicket. 

Verily,  if  the  sun  danced  in  the 
sky,  my  poor  heart  danced  in  my 
bosom.  At  Basil's  wishing,  anticipat- 
ing future  duties,  I  went  to  the  kitchen 
for  to  order  the  tansy-cakes  which 
were  to  be  prizes  at  the  hand-ball 
playing  on  the  next  day.  Like  a  fool- 
ish creature,  I  was  ready  to  smile  at 
every  jest,  howsoever  trifling;  and 
when  Basik  put  in  his  head  at  the 
door  and  cried,  "  Prithee,  let  each  one 
that  eateth  of  tansy-cake  to-morrow, 
which  signifieth  bitter  herbs,  take  also 
of  bacon,  to  show  he  is  no  Jew,"  the 
■svenches  and  I  did  laugh  till  the  tears 
ran  down  our  cheeks.  Ah  me  !  when 
the  heart  doth  ovei-flow  with  joy  't'is 
marvellous  how  the  least  word  maketh 
meiTiment. 

One  day  late  in  April  I  rode  with 
Basil  for  to  see  some  hawking,  which 
verily   is   a   pleasure    for    high   and 


mounting  spirits ;  howsoLsvcr,  I  wore 
not  the  dress  which  the  ladies  in  this 
country  do  use  on  such  occasions,  for  I 
have  always  thought  it  an  unbecoming 
thing  for  women  to  array  themselves 
in  male  attire,  or  ride  in  fashion  like  a 
man,  and  Basil  is  of  my  thinking 
thereon.  It  was  a  clear,  calm,  sun- 
shiny evening,  about  an  hour  before 
the  sun  doth  usually  mask  himself, 
that  we  went  to  the  river.  There  we 
dismounted  and,  for  tho  first  time,  I 
did  behold  this  noble  pastime.  For  is 
it  not  rare  to  consider  how  a  wild  bird 
should  be  so  brought  to  hand  and  so 
well  managed  as  to  m_ake  us  such 
pleasure  in  the  air  ;  bat  most  of  all  to 
forego  her  native  liberty  and  feeding, 
and  return  to  her  servitude  and  diet? 
And  what  a  lesson  do  they  read  to  us 
when  our  wanton  wills  and  thoughts 
take  no  heed  of  reason  and  conscience's 
voices  luring  us  back  to  duty's  perch. 

When  we  had  stood  a  brief  time 
watching  for  a  mallard,  Basil  perceiv- 
ed one  and  whistled  off  his  falcon. 
She  flew  from  him  as  if  she  would 
never  have  turned  her  head  again,  yet 
upon  a  shout  came  in.  Then  by  de- 
grees, little  by  little,  flying  about  and 
about,  she  mounted  so  high  as  if  she 
had  made  the  moon  the  place  of  her 
flight,  but  presently  came  down  like  a 
stone  at  the  sound  of  his  lure.  I  wax- 
ed very  eager  in  the  noticing  of  these 
haps,  tind  was  well  content  to  be  an 
eye-witness  of  this  sport.  Methought 
it  should  be  a  very  pleasant  thing  to 
be  Basil's  companion  in  it,  and  wear 
a  dainty  glove  and  a  gentle  tasel  on 
my  fist  which  should  never  cast  off 
but  at  my  bidding,  and  when  I  let  it 
fly  would  return  at  my  call.  And  this 
thought  minded  me  of  a  faithful  love 
never  diverted  from  its  resting-place 
save  by  heavenward  aspirations  al- 
ternating betwixt  earthly  duties  and 
ghostly  soarings.  But  oh,  what  a 
tragedy  was  enacted  in  the  air  when 
Basil,  having  detected  by  a  little  white 
feather  in  its  tail  a  cock  in  a  brake, 
cast  off  a  tasel  gentle,  who  never 
ceased  his  circular  motion  till  he  had 
recovered  his   place.     Then  suddenly 


Constance  Sherwood. 


199 


upon  the  flushing  of  the  cock  he  came 
down,  and  misshig  of  it  in  that  down- 
come,  lo  what  working  there  was  •  on 
both  sides  !  The  cock  mounting  as  if 
he  would  have  pierced  the  skies  ;  the 
hawk  fl jing  a  contrary  way  until  he 
had  made  the  wind  his  friend  ;  what 
speed  the  cock  made  to  save  himself! 
What  hasty  pursuit  the  hawk  made  of 
the  fugitive !  after  long  flying  killing 
of  it,  but  alack  in  killing  of  it  killing 
himself! 

"  Ah,  a  fatal  ending  to  a  fatal 
strife !"  exclaimed  a  known  voice 
close  unto  mine  ear,  a  melodious  one, 
albeit  now  harsh  to  my  hearing. 
Mine  eyes  were  dazzled  with  gazing 
upward,  and  I  confusedly  discerned 
two  gentlemen  standing  near  me,  one 
of  which  I  knew  to  be  Hubert.  I 
gave  him  my  hand,  and  then  Basil 
turning  round  and  beholding  him  and 
his  companion,  came  up  to  them  with 
a  joyful  greeting  : 

"  Oh,  Sir  Henry,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I 
be  truly  glad  to  see  you  ;  and  you, 
Huberi,  what  a  wcbome  surj^rise  is 
this !" 

Then  he  introduced  me  to  Sir  Hen- 
ry Jerningham ;  for  he  it  was  who, 
bowing  ill  a  courteous  fashion,  ad- 
dressed to  me  such  compliments  as 
gentlemen  are  wont  to  pay  to  ladies  at 
the  outset  of  their  acquaintanceship. 

These  visitors  had  left  their  horses 
a  few  paces  off,  and  then  Sir  Henry 
explained  that  Hubert  had  been  abid- 
ing with  him  at  his  seat  for  a  few 
da3^s,  and  that  certain  law  business  in 
which  Basil  was  concerned  as  well  as 
his  brother,  and  himself  also,  as  hav- 
ing been  for  one  year  his  guardian,  did 
necessitate  a  meeting  wherein  these 
matters  should  be  brought  to  a  close. 

"  So,"  quoth  he  then,  "  Master  Basil, 
I  proposed  we  should  invade  your 
solitude  in  place  of  withdrawing  you 
from  it,  which  methought  of  the  two 
evils  should  be  the  least,  seeing  what 
attractions  do  detain  yon  at  Euston 
at  this  time." 

I  foolishly  dared  not  look  at  Hubert 
when  Sir  Henry  made  this  speech, 
and  Basil  with  hearty  cheer  thanked 


him  for  his  obliging  conduct  and  the 
great  honor  he  did  him  lor  to  visit  him 
in  this  amicable  manner.  Then  he 
craved  his  permission  for  to  accompa- 
ny me  to  Lady  Tr^gony's  house,  trust- 
ing, he  said,  to  Hubert  to  conduct  him 
to  Euston,  and  to  perform  there  all 
hospitable  duties  during  the  short  time 
he  should  be  absent  himself. 

'•  Nay,  nay,"  quoth  Sir  Henry,  "  but, 
with  your  license,  Master  B:isil,  we 
will  ride  with  you  and  this  lady  to 
Banhara  Hall.  Methinks,  seeing  you 
are  such  near  neighbors,  that  Mistress 
Sherwood  lacketh  not  opportunities  to 
enjoy  your  company,  and  that  you 
should  not  deprive  me  of  the  pleasure 
ot*  a  short  conversation  with  her 
whilst  Hubert  and  you  entertain  your- 
selves for  the  nonce  in  the  best  way  you 
can." 

Basil  smiled,  and  said  it  contented 
him  very  much  tliat  Sir  Henry  should 
enjoy  my  conversation,  which  he 
hoped  in  future  should  make  amends 
to  his  friends  for  his  own  deficiencies. 
So  we  all  mounted  our  horses,  and 
Sir  Henry  rode  alongside  of  mc^  and 
Basil  and  Hubert  behind  un  ;  fo.-  only 
two  could  hold  abreast  in  tlic  narrow 
lane  which  led  to  Fakenhan:.  A  chill 
had  fallen  on  my  heart  since  Hubert'3 
arrival,  which  I  can  only  liken  to  the 
sudden  overcasting  of  a  bright  sun- 
shiny day  by  a  dark,  cold  cloud. 

At  first  Sir  Henry  cntCxcd  into  dis- 
course wnth  me  touching  hawking, 
which  he  talked  of  in  a  merry  fashion, 
drawdng  many  similitudes  betwixt  fal- 
coners and  lovers,  which  he  said  were 
the  likest  people  in  the  world. 

"  For,  I  pray  you,"  said  he,  "  are 
not  hawks  to  the  one  what  his  mistress 
is  to  the  other  ?  the  objects  of  his  care, . 
admiration,  labor,  and  all.  They  be 
indeed  his  idols.  To  them  he  con- 
secrates his  amorous  ditties,  and 
courts  each  one  in  a  peculiar  dialect. 
Oh,  believe  me.  Mistress  Sherwood, 
that  lady  may  style  herself  fortunate 
in  love  who  shall  meet  with  so  much 
thought,  affection,  and  solicitude  from 
a  lover  or  a  husband  as  his  birds  do 
from  a  srood  ostrin^er." 


200 


Constance  Sherwood. 


Then  diTcrfcing  his  speech  to  other 
topics,  he  told  me  it  was  bruited  that 
the  queen  did  intend  to  make  a  pro- 
gress in  the  eastern  counties  that  sum- 
mer, and  that  her  majesty  should  be 
entertained  in  a  very  splendid  manner 
at  Kenninghall  by  my  Lord  Arundel 
and  also  at  his  house  in  Norwich. 

"  It  doth  much  grieve  me  to  hear  it," 
I  answered. 

Then  he :  "  Wherefore,  Mistress 
Sherwood?" 

"Because,"!  said,  "Lord  Arundel 
hath  already  greatly  impaired  his  for- 
tune and  spent  larger  sums  than  can 
be  thought  of  in  the  like  prodigal 
courtly  expenses,  and  also  lost  a  good 
part  of  the  lands  which  his  grand- 
father and  my  Lady  Lumley  would 
have  bequeathed  to  him  if  he  had  not 
turned  spendthrift  and  so  greatly  dis- 
pleased them." 

"  But  and  if  it  be  so,"  quoth  he 
again,  "  wherefore  doth  this  young  no- 
bleman's imprudence  displeasure  you, 
Mistress  Sherwood  ?" 

I  answered,  "  By  reason  of  the  pain 
which  his  follies  do  cause  to  his  sweet 
lady,  which  for  many  years  hath  been 
more  of  a  friend  to  my  poor  self,  than 
unequal  rank  and,  if  possible,  still 
more  unequal  merit  should  warrant." 

"Then  I  marvel  not,"  replied  Sir 
Henry,  "at  your  resentment  of  her 
husband's  folly,  for  by  all  I  have  ever 
seen  or  heard  of  this  lady  she  doth 
show  herself  to  be  the  pattern  of  a 
wife,  the  model  of  high-born  ladies  ; 
and  'tis  said  that  albeit  so  young,  there 
doth  exist  in  her  so  much  merit  and 
dignity  that  some  noblenaen  confess 
that  when  they  come  into  her  presence 
they  dare  not  swear,  as  'at  other  times 
they  are  wont  to  do  before  the  best  of 
the  kingdom.  But  I  have  heard,  and 
am  verily  inclined  to  believe  It,  that  he 
is  much  changed  in  his  dispositions  to- 
ward his  lady;  though  pride,  it  may 
be,  or  shame  at  his  ill-usage  of  her, 
or  fear  that  it  should  seem  that,  now 
his  favor  with  the  queen  doth  visibly 
decline,  he  should  turn  to  her  whom, 
when  fortune  smiled  upon  him,  he  did 
keep    aloof  from,   seeking    her  only 


when  clouds  gather  round  him,  do  hin- 
der him  from  showing  these  new  in- 
clinations." 

"  How  much  he  would  err,"  I  ex- 
claimed, "  and  wrong  his  noble  wife  if 
he  misdoubted  her  heart  in  such  a 
case !  Methinks  most  women  would 
be  ready  to  forgive  one  they  loved 
when  misfortune  threatened  them,  but 
she  beyond  all  others,  who  never  at 
any  time  allowed  jealousy  or  natural 
resentments  to  draw  away  her  love 
from  him  to  whom  she  hath  vowed  it. 
But  is  Lord  Arundel  then  indeed  in 
less  favor  with  her  majesty?  And 
how  doth  this  surmise  agree  with  the 
report  of  her  visit  to  Kenninghall  ?" 

"  Ah,  Mistress  Sherwood,"  he  an- 
swered, "  declines  in  the  human  body 
often  do  call  for  desperate  remedies, 
and  the  like  are  often  required  when 
they  occur  in  court  favor.  'Tis  a  dan- 
gerous expedient  to  spend  two  or  three 
thousands  of  pounds  in  one  or  two 
days  for  the  entertainment  of  the 
queen  and  the  court ;  but  if,  on  the 
report  of  her  intended  progress,  o.ie 
of  such  high  rank  as  Lord  Arundel 
had  failed  to  place  his  house-  at  hor 
disposal,  his  own  disgrace  and  his  011- 
emies'  triumph  should  have  speedily 
ensued.  I  pray  God  my  Lord  Bur- 
leigh do  not  think  on  Cottessy  !  Egad, 
I  would  as  lief  pay  down  at  once  one 
year's  income  as  to  be  so  uncertainly 
mulcted.  I  warrant  you  Lord  Arun- 
del shall  have  need  to  sell  an  estate 
to  pay  for  the  honor  her  majesty  will 
do  him.  He  hath  a  spirit  will  not 
stop  half-way  in  anything  he  doth 
pursue." 

"Then  think  you,  sir,"  I  said,  "  Ire 
will  be  one  day  as  noted  for  liis  vir- 
tues as  now  for  his  faults  ?" 

Sir  Henry  smiled  as  he  answered, 
"If  Philip  Howard  doth  set  himself 
one  day  to  serve  God,  I  promise  you 
his  zeal  therein  will  far  exceed  what 
he  hath  shown  in  the  devil's  service." 

"  I  pray  you  prove  a  true  prophet, 
sir,"  I  said ;  and,  as  we  now  had 
reached  the  door  of  Lady  Tregony's 
house,  I  took  leave  of  this  courteous 
gentleman,  and  hastily  turned  toward 


Constance  Sherwood. 


20I 


Basil — with  a:i  uneasy  desire  to  set 
liim  on  his  guard  to  use  some  reserve 
in  his  speeches  with  Hubert,  but  with- 
al at  a  loss  how  to  frame  a  brief  warn- 
ing, or  to  speak  without  being  over- 
heard. Howsoever,  I  drew  him  a 
little  aside,  and  whispered,  "  Prithee, 
be  silent  touching  Owen's  work,  even 
to  Hubert." 

He  looked  at  me  so  much  astonish- 
ed, and  methouglit  with  so  great  a 
look  of  pain,  that  .m j  heart  smote  me. 
We  exchanged  a  brief  farewell ;  and 
when  they  had  all  ridden  away,  I  felt 
sad.  Our  partings  were  wont  to  be 
more  protracted ;  for  he  would  most 
times  ask  me  to  walk  back  with  him 
to  the  gate,  and  then  made  it  an  ex- 
cuse that  it  should  be  unmannerly  not 
to  see  me  home,  and  so  three  or  four 
times  we  used  to  -walk  to  and  fro,  till 
at  last  I  did  laughingly  shut  the  door 
on  him,  and  refused  to  open  it  again. 
But,  ah  me !  that  evening  the  chill  I 
spoke  of  had  fallen  on  our  simple  joys 
like  a  blight  on  a  fair  landscape. 

On  the  next  day  two  missives  came 
to  me  from  Euston,  sent  by  private 
hand,  but  not  by  the  same  messenger. 
I  leave  the  reader  to  judge  what  I  felt 
in  reading  these  proofs  of  the  disposi- 
tions of  two  brothers,  so  alike  in  fea- 
tures, so  different  in  soul.  This  was 
Basil's  letter : 

"  Mine  own  dear  Heart — Tlic 
business  which  hath  brought  Sir  Hen- 
rj  and  Hubert  here  will,  I  be  fright- 
ened, hold  me  engaged  all  to-morrow. 
But,  before  I  sleep.  I  must  needs  write 
thee  (poor  penman  as  I  be)  how  much 
it  misliketh  me  to  sec  in  ihee  an  ill 
opinion  of  mine  only  and  dear  brother, 
and  such  suspicion  as  verily  no  one 
should  entertain  of  a  friend,  but  much 
less  of  one  so  near  in  blood.  I  do 
yield  thee  that  he  is  not  as  zealous  as  I 
could  wish  in  devout  practices,  and 
something  too  fond  of  worldly  pleas- 
ures ;  but  God  is  my  witness,  I  should 
as  soon  think  of  doubting  mine  own 
existence  as  his  fidelity  to  his  religion, 
or  Ills  kindness  to  myself.  So,  prithee, 
dear  love,  pain  me  not  again  by  the 
utterance  of  such  injurious  words  to 


Hubert  as  that  I  should  not  trust  him 
witli  any  secrets  howsoever  weighty, 
or  should  observe  any  manner  of  re- 
straint in  communicating  with  him 
touching  common  dangers  and  inter- 
ests. Methinks  he  is  very  sad  at  tin's 
time,  and  that  the  sight  of  his  pater- 
nal home  hath  made  him  melancholy. 
Verily,  his  lot  hath  in  it  none  of  the 
brightness  which  doth  attend  mine, 
and  I  would  we  could  anyways 
make  him  a  partaker  in  the  happiness 
we  do  enjoy.  I  pray  God  he  may 
help  me  to  effect  this,  by  the  forward- 
ing of  any  wish  he  hath  at  heart ;  but 
he  was  always  of  a  very  reserved 
habit  of  mind,  and  not  prone  to  speak 
of  his  own  concernments.  Forgive, 
sweetheart,  this  loving  reproof,  from 
thy  most  loving  friend  and  servant, 
"  Basil  Rookwood." 
Hubert's  was  as  folio weth: 
"  Mada3I — My  presumption  to- 
ward you  hath  doubtless  been  a  sin 
calling  for  severe  punishment ;  but  I 
pray  you  leave  not  the  cause  of  it  un- 
remembered.  The  doubtful  mind  you 
once  showed  in  my  regard,  and  of 
which  the  last  time  I  saw  you  some 
marks  raethought  did  yet  appear, 
should  be  my  excuse  if  I  have  erred 
in  a  persistency  of  love,  which  most 
women  would  less  deserve  indeed,  but 
would  more  appreciate  than  you  have 
done.  If  this  day  no  token  doth 
reach  me  of  your  changed  mind,  be  it 
so.  I  depart  hence  as  changed  as  you 
do  remain  unchanged.  It  may  be  for 
mine  own  weal,  albeit  passion  deems 
of  it  otherwise,  if  you  finally  reject 
mo  whom  once  you  did  look  apon 
with  so  great  favor,  that  the  very 
thought  of  it  works  in  me  a  revived 
tenderness  as  should  be  mine  own  un- 
doing if  it  prevailed,  for  this  country 
hath  laws  which  are  not  broken  in 
vain,  and  faithful  loyal  service  is  differ- 
ently requited  than  traitorous  and  ob- 
stinate malignity.  I  shall  be  the  greate  r 
for  lacking  your  love,  proud  lady ;  but 
to  have  it  I  would  forego  all  a  sovo.r- 
eign  can  bestow — all  that  ambition 
can  desire.  These,  then,  are  my  last 
words.     If  we   meet  not  to-day,  God 


202 


Constance  Sherwood. 


knoweth  with  what  sentiments  we 
shall  one  day  meet,  when  justice  hath 
overtaken  yon,  and  love  in  me  hath 
turned  to  hatred ! 

'•  HCBERT  ROOKWOOD." 

"  Ay,"  I  bitterly  exclaimed,  laying; 
the  two  letters  side  by  side  before  me, 
"  one  endeth  with  love,  the  other  with 
hate.  The  one  showeth  the  noble 
fruits  of  true  affection,  the  other  the 
bitter  end  of  selfish  passion."  Then 
I  mused  if.  I  should  send  Basil,  or 
show  him  later  Hubert's  letter,  clear- 
ing myself  of  any  injustice  toward 
him,  but  destroying  likewise  for  ever 
his  virtuous  confidence  in  his  brother's 
honor.  A  short  stnigglo  with  myself 
ensued,  but  I  soon  resolved,  for  the 
present  at  least,  on  silence.  If  danger 
did  seem  to  threaten  Basil,  which  his 
knowledge  of  his  brother's  baseness 
could  avert,  then  I  must  needs  speak ; 
but  God  defend  I  should  without  con- 
straint pour  a  poisoned  drop  into  the 
clear  fount  of  his  undoubting  soul. 
Passion  may  die  away,  hatred  may 
cease,  repentance  arise ;  but  the  evil 
done  by  the  revealing  of  another's  sin 
worketh  endless  wrong  to  the  doer 
and  the  hearer. 

The  day  on  which  I  received  these 
two  letters  did  seem  the  longest  I  had 
ever  known.  On  the  next  Basil  came 
to  Banham  Hall,  and  told  me  his 
guests  were  gone.  A  load  seemed 
lifted  from  my  heart.  But,  albeit  we 
resumed  our  wonted  manner  of  life, 
and  the  same  mutual  kindness  and  ac- 
customed duties  and  pleasures  filled 
our  days,  I  felt  less  secure  in  my  hap- 
piness, less  thoughtless  of  the  world 
without,  more  subject  to  sudden  sink-  . 
ings  of  heart  in  the  midst  of  greatest 
merriment,  than  before  Hubert's  visit. 

In  the  early  part  of  June,  Mr.  Con- 
gleton  wrote  in  answer  to  Basil's  ea- 
ger pressings  •  that  he  would  fix  the 
(lay  of  our  marriage,  that  he  was  of 
opinion  a  better  one  could  not  be  found 
than  that  of  our  Lady's  Visitation,  on 
the  2d  of  July,  and  that,  if  it  pleased 
God,  lie  should  then  take  the  first 
journey  he  had  made  for  five-aud- 
twenty  years  ;  for  nothing  would  serve 


Lady  Trcgony  but  that  the  wedding 
should  take  place  in  her  house,  wdiere 
a  priest  w^ould  marry  us  in  secret  at 
break  of  day,  and  then  we  should 
ride  to  the  parish  church  at  Euston  for 
the  public  ceremony.  He  should,  he 
added,  carry  Muriel  with  him,  howso- 
ever reluctant  she  should  be  to  leave 
London ;  but  he  promised  us  this 
sliQuld  be  a  welcome  piece  of  con- 
straint, for  that  she  longed  to  see  me 
again  more  than  can  be  told. 

Verily,  pleasant  letters  reach- 
ed me  that  week ;  for  my  father  wrote 
he  w^as  in  better  health,  and  in 
great  peace  and  contentment  of  mind 
at  Rheims,  albeit  somewhat  sad,  when 
he  saw  younger  and  more  fortunate 
men  (for  so  he  styled  them)  depart  for 
the  English  mission  ;  and  by  a  cyph&r 
we  had  agreed  on  he  gave  me  to  un- 
derstand Edmund  Genings  was  ol 
that  number.  And  Lady  Arundel,  to 
whom  I  had  reported  the  conversation 
I  had  with  Sir  Henrj^  Jerningham, 
sent  me  an  answer  which  I  will  here 
transcribe : 

"My  tvell-beloved  Coxstanck 
— You  do  rightly  read  my  heart,  and 
the  hope  you  express  in  my  regard, 
with  so  tender  a  friendship  and  solici- 
tous desire  for  my  happiness,  hath  in- 
deed a  better  foundation  than  idle 
surmises.  It  hath  truly  pleased  God 
that  Philip's  disposition  toward  me 
should  change  ;  and  albeit  this  change 
is  not  as  yet  openly  manifested,  he 
nevertheless  doth  oftentimes  visit  me, 
and  testifies  much  regret  for  his  past 
neglect  of  one  whom  he  doth  now 
confess  to  be  his  truest  friend,  his 
greatest  lover,  and  best  comfort.  O 
mine  own  dear  friend!  my  life  has 
known  many  strange  accidents,  but 
none  greater  or  more  strange  than  this, 
that  my  so  long  indifferent  husband 
should  turn  into  a  secret  lover  who 
doth  haunt  me  by  stealth,  and  looking 
on  me  with  new  eyes,  appears  to  can- 
ceive  so  much  admiration  for  my 
worthless  beauty,  and  to  find  such 
pleasure  in  my  poor  company,  that  it 
would  seem  as  if  a  new  face  and  per- 
son lad  been  given  ic  me  wherewith 


Constance  Sherwood. 


20: 


to  inspire  Iilm  with  this  love  forliei*  (o 
whom  he  doth  owe  it.  Oh,  I  promise 
thee  this  husbandly  wooln«jj  liketh  me 
well,  and  methinks  I  would  not  at 
once  disclose  to  the  world  this  new 
kindness  he  doth  show  me  and  revival 
of  conjugal  affection,  but  rather  hug  it 
and  cherish  it  like  a  secret  treasure 
until  it  doth  take  such  deep  root  that 
nothing  can  again  separate  his  heart 
from  me.  His  fears  touching  the 
queen's  ill-conception  of  him  increase, 
and  his  enemies  do  wax  more  power- 
ful each  day.  The  world  hath  become 
full  of  uneasiness  to  him.  Methinks 
he  would  gladly  break  with  it ;  but 
like  to  one  who  walketh  on  a  narrow 
plank,  with  a  precipice  on  each  side 
of  him,  his  safety  lieth  only  in  advanc- 
ing. The  report  is  true — I  would  it 
were  false — of  the  queen's  progress, 
and  her  intended  visit  to  Kenninghall. 
1  fear  another  fair  estate  in  the  north 
must  needs  pay  the  cost  thereof;  but 
avoidance  is  impossible.  I  am  about 
to  remove  from  London  to  Arundel 
Castle,  where  my  lord  doth  will  me 
for  the  present  to  reside.  The  sea- 
breezes  on  that  coast,  and  the  mild  air 
of  Sussex,  he  thinks  should  improve 
iny  health,  which  doth  at  this  time  re- 
([iiire  care.  Touching  religion,  I 
have  two  or  three  times  let  fall  words 
which  implied  an  increased  inclination 
to  Catholic  religion.  Each  time  his 
countenance  did  veiy  much  alter,  and 
assumed  a  painful  expression.  I  fear 
he  is  as  greatly  opposed  to  it  as  here- 
tofore. But  if  once  resolved  on  what 
conscience  doth  prescribe,  with  God's 
help,  I  hope  that  neither  new-found 
joys  nor  future  fears  shall  stay  me 
from  obeying  its  voice. 

''  And  so  thou  art  to  be  married 
come  the  early  days  of  July !  I'  faith 
thy  Basil  and  thou  have,  like  a  pair  of 
doves,  cooed  long  enough,  I  ween, 
amidst  the  tall  trees  of  Euston  ;  which, 
if  you  are  to  be  believed,  should  be 
the  most  delectable  place  in  the  whole 
world.  And  yet  some  have  told  me 
it  is  but  a  huge  plain  building,  and 
the  country  about  it,  except  for  its 
luxuriant  trees,  of  no  notable  beauty. 


The  sunshine  of  thine  own  heart  shed- 
deth,  I  ween,  a  radiancy  on  the  plain 
walls  and  the  unadorned  gardens 
greater  than  nature  or  art  can  bestows 
i  cry  thee  mercy  for  this  niaUcious 
surmise,  and  give  thee  license,  when  I 
shall  write  in  the  same  strain  touching 
my  lord's  castle  at  Arundel  to  flout 
me  in  a  like  manner.  Some  do  dis- 
dainfully style  it  a  huge  old  fortress  ; 
others  a  very  grand  and  noble  pile.  If 
that  good  befalleth  me  that  he  doth 
visit  me  there,  then  I  doubt  not  but  it 
will  be  to  me  the  cheerfullest  place  in 
existence.  Thy  loving  servant  to 
command, 

"  Ann  Arundel  and  Surrey." 
This  letter  came  to  my  hand  at 
Whitsuntide,  when  the  village  folks 
were  enacting  a  pastoral,  the  only 
merit  of  which  did  lie  in  the  innocent 
glee  of  the  performers.  Tne  sheep- 
shearing  feast,  a  very  pretty  festival, 
ensued  a  few  days  later.  A  fat  lamb 
was  provided,  and  the  maidens  of  the 
town  permitted  to  run  after  it,  and  she 
which  took  hold  of  it  declared  the  lady 
of  the  lamb.  'Tis  then  the  custom  to 
kill  and  carry  it  on  a  long  pole  before 
the  lady  and  her  companions  to  the 
green,  attended  with  music  and  nioris- 
co  dances.  But  this  year  I  ransomed 
the  lamb,  and  had  it  crowned  with 
blue  corn-flowers  and  poppies,  and 
led  to  a  small  paddock,  where  for 
some  time  I  visited  and  fed  it  every 
day.  Poor  little  lamb !  like  me,  it 
had  one  short  happy  time  that  sum- 
mer. 

In  the  evening  I  went  with  the 
lasses  to  the  banks  of  the  Ouse,  and 
scattered  on  the  dimpling  stream,  as  is 
their  Wont  at  the  lamb-ale,  a  thousand 
odorous  flowers — new-born  roses,  the 
fleur-de-luce,  sweet-williams,  und  yel- 
low coxcombs,  the  small-flowered 
lady's-slipper,  the  prince's-feather  and 
the  clustered  bell-flower,  the  sweet- 
basil  (the  saucy  wenches  srniledwhei* 
they  furnished  me  with  a  bunch 
thereof),  and  a  great  store  of  midsum- 
mer daisies.  When,  with  due  observ- 
ance, I  threw  on  the  water  a  handful 
of    these    goLlen-tufted    and    silver- 


204 


Constance  Sherwood, 


crowned  flowerets,  I  thought  of  Mas- 
ter Chaucer's  Imes : 


"  Above  all  the  flowers  in  the  mead 

These  love  I  most— these  flowers  white  and  red, 

And  in  French  called  la  bdle  Marguerite. 
O  commendable  flower,  and  most  in  mind  ! 
O  flower  and  gracious  excellence  ! 

O  amiable  Marguerite," 


The  great  store  of  winsome  and  gra- 
ciously-named flowers  used  that  day 
set  me  to  plan  a  fair  garden,  wherein 
each  month  should  yield  in  its  turn  to 
the  altar  of  our  secret  chapel  a  pure 
incense  of  nature's  own  furnishing. 
Basil  was  helping  me  thei-eto,  and  my 
Lady  Tregony  smiling  at  my  quaint 
devices,  when  Mr.  Cobham,  a  cousin 
of  her  ladyship,  arrived,  bringing  with 
him  news  of  the  queen's  progress, 
which  quickly  diverted  us  from  other 
thoughts,  and  caused  my  pencil  to 
stand  idle  in  mine  hand. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

^'  Aji.,  ladies,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cob- 
ham — pleased,  I  ween,  to  see  how 
eagerly  we  looked  for  his  news-—"  I 
promise  you  the  eastern  counties  do 
exhibit  their  loyalty  in  a  very  com- 
mendable fashion,  and  so  report 
saith  her  majesty  doth  think.  The 
gallant  appearance  and  brave  array 
of  the  Suffolk  esquires  hath  drawn 
from  her  highness  sundry  marks  of 
her  approval.  What  think  you,  my 
Lady  Tregony,  of  two  hundred  bach- 
elors, all  gaily  clad  in  white-velvet 
coats,  and  those  of  graver  years  in 
black-velvefc  coats  and  fair  gold 
chains,  with  fifteen  hundred  men  all 
mounted  on  horseback,  and  Sir  Wil- 
liam le  Spring  of  Lavenham  at  their 
head.  I  warrant  you  a  more  comely 
troop  and  a  nobler  sight  should  not 
f 'ten  be  seen.  Then,  in  Norfolk, 
what  great  sums  of  moMcy  have  been 
spent!  Notably  at  Kenninghall, 
where  for  divers  days  not  only  the 
queen  herself  was  lodged  and  feasted, 
with  all  her  household,  council,  court- 
iers, and  all  their  company,  but   all 


the  gentlemen  also,  and  people  of  the 
country  who  came  thither  upon  the  oc- 
casion, in  such  plentiful,  bountiful,  and 
splendid  manner,  as  the  like  had  nev- 
er been  seen  before  in  these  counties. 
Every  night  she  hath  slept  at  some 
gentleman's  seat.  At  Holdstead  Hall 
I  had  thQ  honor  to  be  presented  to  her 
highness,  and  to  ^ee  her  dance  a 
minuet.  But  an  unlucky  accident  did 
occur  that  evening,'* 

"No  lives  were  lost,  I  hope?' 
Lady  Tregony  said. 

"No  lives,"  Master  Cobham  an- 
swered j  "but  a  very  precious  fan 
which  her  majesty  let  drop  into  the 
moat — one  of  white  and  red  feathers, 
which  Sir  Francis  Drake  had  gifted 
her  with  on  New  Year's  day.  It  was 
enamelled  with  a  half-moon  of  mother- 
o'-pearl  and  had  her  majesty's  picture 
within  it." 

*'And  at  Norwich,  sir?"  I  asked. 
"  Methinks,  by  some  reports  we  heard, 
the  pageants  there  must  have  proved 
exceeding  grand." 

"  Kare  indeed,"  he  replied.  "  On 
the  16th  she  did  enter  the  town  at 
Harford  Bridge.  The  mayor  receiv- 
ed her  witli  a  long  Latin  oration,  very 
tedious ;  and,  moreover,  presented 
her  with  a  fair  cup  of  silver,  saying, 
*  Here  is  one  hundred  pounds  pure 
gold.*  To  my  thinking,  the  cup  was 
to  her  liking  more  than  the  speech, 
and  the  gold  most  of  all;  for  when 
one  of  her  footmen  advanced  for  to 
take  the  cup,  she  said  sharply,  '  Look 
to  it :  there  is  one  hundred  pounds.' 
Lord!  what  a  number  of  pageants 
were  enacted  that  day  and  those  which 
followed!  Deborah,  Judith,  Esther 
at  one  gate ;  Queen  Martia  at  an- 
other ;  on  the  heights  near  Blanche- 
flower  Castle,  King  Gurgunt  and  his 
men.  Then  all  the  heathen  deities  in 
turn :  Mercury  driving  full  speed 
through  the  city  in  a  fantastic  car  ; 
Jupiter  presenting  her  with  a  riding- 
rod,  and  Venus  with  a  white  dove. 
But  the  rarest  of  ail  had  been  desism- 


Constance  Sherwood, 


205 


ed  by  Master   Churchyard.     Where 
her  majesty  was  to  take  her  barge,  at 
tlie  back-door  of  my  Lord  Armidel's 
town-house,  he  had  prepared  a  goodly 
P     masque  of  water-nymphs  concealed  in 
E     a  deep  hole,  and  covered  with  green 
J     canvas,  which  suddenly  opening  as  if 
•       the   ground  gaped,  first   one   nymph 
was  intended  10  pop  up  and  make  a 
speech  to  the  queen,  and    then    an- 
other ;  and  a  very  complete  concert  to 
sound  secretly  and   strangely  out  of 
the  earth.     But  when  the  queen  pass- 
ed   in   her  coach,  a   thunder-shower 
came  down   like   a  water-spout,  and 
great   claps  of  thunder   silenced  the 
concert ;  which  some  did  presage  to  be 
an  evil  omen  of  the  young  lord*s  for- 
tunes." 

"  r  faith,"  cried  Basil,  "  I  be  sorry 
for  the  young  nobleman,  and  yet  more 
for  the  poor  artificer  of  this  ingenious 
pageant,  to  whom  his  nymphs  turned 
into  drowned  rats  must  needs  have 
been  a  distressing  sight." 

"  He  was  heard  to  lament  over  it," 
Master  Cobham   said,  "  in    very  pa- 
thetic   terms :    '  What    shall    I  say' 
(were  his  words)  ^of  the  loss  of  vel- 
vets, silks,  and  cloths  of  gold  ?     Well, 
.      nothing  but  the  old  adage — Man  doth 
\      purpose,  but  God  dispose.'     Well,  the 
f      mayor  hath  been  knighted;  and  her 
'       majesty  said  she  should  never  forget 
his,  city.     On  her  journey  she  looked 
back,   and,  with  water   in   her  eyes, 
shaked   her   riding  whip,   and  cried, 
*  Farewell  Norwich !'     Yesterday  she 
was  to  sleep  at  Sir  Henry  Jerning- 
ham's  at  Cottessy,  and   hunt   in   his 
park  to-day." 

"  Oh,  poor  Sir  Henry !"  I  said 
laughing.  "  Then  he  hath  not  escap- 
ed this  dear  honor  ?" 

'•  Notice  of  it  was  sent  to  him  but 
two  days  before,  from  Norwich,"  Mas- 
ter Cobham  rejoined  ;  "  and  I  ween  he 
should  have  been  glad  for  to  be  ex- 
cused." 

Lady  Tregony  then  reminded  us 
that  supper  was  ready,  and  we  remov- 
ed to  the  dining-hall ;  but  neither  did 
this  good  gentleman  weary  of  relatinp: 
nor   we  of    listening  to   the   various 


haps  of  the  royal  progress,  which  he 
continued  to  describe  whilst  we  sat  at 
meat. 

He  was  yet  talking  when  the 
sound  of  a  horse  gallopping  under  the 
windows  surprised  us,  and  we  had 
scarce  time  to  turn  our  heads  before 
Basil's  steward  came  tumbling  into 
the  room  head  foremost,  like  one  de- 
mented. 

"  Sir,  sir !"  he  cried,  almost  beside 
himself;  "in  God's  name,  what  do 
you  here,  and  the  queen  coming  for 
to  sleep  at  your  house  to-morrow  ?" 

Methinks  a  thunder-clap  in  the 
midst  of  the  stilly  clear  evening 
should  not  have  startled  us  so  much. 
Basil's  face  flushed  very  deeply ; 
Lady  Tregony  looked  ready  to  faint ; 
my  heart  beat  as  if  it  should  burst ; 
Master  Cobham  threw  his  hat  into 
the  air,  and  cried,  "  Long  live  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  the  old  house  of  Rook- 
wood  !" 

"  Who  hath  brought  these  tidings  ?" 
Basil  asked  of  the  steward. 

"  Marry,"  replied  the  man,  "  one  of 
her  majesty's  gentlemen  and  two 
footmen  have  arrived  from  Cottessy, 
and  brought  this  letter  from  Lord 
Burleigh  for  your  honor." 

Basil  broke  the  seal,  read  the  mis- 
sive, and  then  quietly  looking  up,  said, 
"  It  is  true ;  and  I  must  lose  no  time 
to  prepare  my  poor  house  for  her  ma- 
jesty's abode  in  it." 

He  looked  not  now  red,  but  some- 
what pale.  Methinks  he  was  thinking 
of  the  chapel,  and  what  it  held  ;  and 
the  queen's  servants  now  in  the  house. 
I  would  not  stay  him  ;  but,  taking  my 
hand  whilst  he  spoke,  he  said  to  Lady 
Tregony, 

"  Dear  lady,  I  shall  lack  yours  and 
Constance's  aid  to-morrow.  Will  you 
do  me  so  much  good  as  to  come  with 
her  to  Euston  as  early  before  dinner 
as  you  can  ?" 

"  Yea,  we  will  be  with  you,  my 
good  Basil,"  she  answered,  "before 
ten  of  the  clock." 

"  'Tis  not,"  he  said,  "  that  I  intend 
to  cast  about  for  fine  silks  and  cloths 
of  gold,   or   contrive  pageants — God 


!o6 


Constance  Sherwood^ 


defend  it ! — or  ransack  the  country  for 
rare  and  costly  meats  ;  but  such  hon- 
orable cheer  and  so  much  of  comfort 
as  a  plain  gentleman's  house  can  af- 
ford, I  be  bound  to  provide  for  my 
sovereign  when  she  deigneth  to  use 
nine  house." 

"  Master  Cobham,  I  do  crave  the 
honor  of  your  company  also,"  he  add- 
ed, turning  to  that  gentleman,  who,  with 
many  acknowledgments  of  his  courte- 
sy, excused  himself  on  the  plea  that 
he  must  needs  be  at  his  own  seat  the 
next  day. 

Then  Basil,  mounting  his  horse 
which  the  steward  had  brought  with 
him,  rode  away  so  fast  that  the  old 
man  could  scarce  keep  up  with  him. 

Not  once  that  night  did  mine  eyes 
close  themselves.  Either  I  sat  bolt 
upright  in  my  bed  counting  each  time 
the  clock  struck  the  number  of  chimes, 
or  else,  unable  to  lie  still,  paced  up 
and  down  my  chamber.  The  hours 
seemed  to  pass  so  slowly,  more  than 
in  times  of  deep  grief.  It  seemed  so 
strange  a  hap  that  the  queen  should 
come  to  Euston,  I  almost  fancied  at 
moments  the  whole  thing  to  be  a 
dream,  so  fantastic  did  it  appear. 
Then  a  fear  would  seize  me  lest  the 
chapel  should  have  been  discovered 
before  Basil  could  arrive.  Minor 
cares  hkewise  troubled  me  ;  such  as 
the  scantiness  and  bad  state  of  the 
furniture,  the  lack  of  household  con- 
veniences, the  difficulty  that  might 
arise  to  procure  sufficient  food  at  a 
brief  notice  for  so  great  a  number  of 
persons.  Oh,  how  my  head  did  work 
all  night  with  these  various  thinkings  ! 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  morning  would 
never  come,  and  when  it  did  that 
Lady  Tregony  would  never  ring  her 
bell.  Then  I  bethought  myself  of 
the  want  of  proper  dresses  for  her 
and  myself  to  appear  in  before  her 
rnajesty,  if  so  be  we  were  admitted  to 
her  presence.  Howsoever,  I  found 
she  was  indiiferently  well  provided 
in  that  respect,  for  her  old  good  gowns 
stood  in  a  closet  where  dust  could  not 
reach  them,  and  she  bethought  herself 
I  could  wear  my  wedding-dress,  which 


had  come  from  the  seamstress  a  few 
days  before ;  and  so  we  should  not  be 
ashamed  to  be  seen.  I  must  needs 
confess  that,  though  many  doubts  and 
apprehensions  filled  me  touching  this 
day,  I  did  feel  some  contentment  in 
the  thought  of  the  honor  conferred  0:1 
Basil.  If  there  was  pride  in  this,  I 
do  cry  God  mercy  for  it.  As  we 
rode  to  Euston,  the  fresh  air,  the  eager 
looks  of  the  people  on  the  road — for 
now  the  report  had  spread  of  the 
queen's  coming — the  stir  which  it 
caused,  the  puttings  up  of  flags,  and 
buildings  of  green  arches,  strengthen- 
ed this  gladness.  Basil  was  awaiting 
us  with  much  impatience,  and  immedi- 
ately drew  me  aside. 

"  I  have  locked,"  he  said,  "  all  the 
books  and  church  furniture,  and  our 
Blessed  Lady's  image,  in  Owen's  hid- 
ing place ;  so  methinks  we  be  quite 
secure.  Beds  and  food  I  have  sent 
for,  and  they  keep  coming  in.  Prithee, 
dear  love,  look  well  thyself  to  her 
majesty's  chamber,  for  to  make  it  as 
handsome  and  befitting  as  is  possible 
with  such  poor  means  thereunto.  I 
pray  God  the  lodging  may  be  to  her 
contentation  for  one  night." 

So  I  hasted  to  the  state-chamber — 
for  so  it  was  called,  albeit  except  for 
size  it  had  but  small  signs  of  state 
about  it.  Howsoever,  with  the  maids' 
help,  I  gathered  into  it  whatsoever 
furniture  in  the  house  was  most  hand- 
some, and  the  wenches  made  wreaths 
of  ivy  and  laurel,  which  we  hung 
round  the  bare  walls.  Thence  I  went 
to  the  kitchen,  and  found  her  majesty's 
cook  was  aiTived,  with  as  many  scul- 
lions as  should  have  served  a  whole 
army ;  so,  except  speaking  to  him 
civilly,  and  inquiring  what  provisions 
he  wanted,  I  had  not  much  to  do 
there.  Then  we  went  round  the 
house  with  Mr.  Bowyer,  the  gentle- 
man-usher, for  to  assign  the  chambers 
to  the  queen's  ladies,  and  the  lords 
and  gentlemen  and  the  waiting-women. 
Tiiere  was  no  lack  of  room,  but  murh 
of  ])roper  furniture  ;  albeit  chairs  and 
tables  were  borrowed  on  all  sides  from 
the  neighboring   cottages,  and  Lady 


Constance  SJierwood. 


207 


Trogonj  sent  for  a  store  from  her 
house.  Mr.  Bowyer  held  in  liis  hand 
a  list  of  the  persons  of  the  court  now 
journeying  with  the  queen  ;  Lord 
Burleigh,  Sir  Francis  Walsingham, 
Sir  Christopher  llatton,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  and  many  other  famous 
courtiers  were  foremost  in  it.  When 
their  lodgings  were  fixed,  he  glanced 
down  the  paper,  and,  mine  eyes  follow- 
ing his,  I  perceived  among  the  minor 
gentlemen  there  set  down  Hubert's 
name,  which  moved  me  very  much ; 
for  we  did  not  of  a  surety  know  at 
that  lime  ho  did  belong  to  the  court, 
and  I  would  fain  he  had  not  been 
present  on  this  occasion,  and  new  un- 
easy thoughts  touching  what  had 
passed  at  Sir  Francis  Walsingham's 
house,  and  the  words  the  queen  had 
let  fall  concerning  him  and  me,  crossed 
my  mind  in  consequence.  But  in  that 
same  list  I  soon  saw  another  name 
which  caused  me  so  vehement  an  emo- 
tion that  Basil,  noticing  it,  pulled  me 
by  the  hand  into  another  room  for  to 
isk  me  the  cause  of  that  sudden  pas- 
ion. 

"  Basil,"  I  whispered,  "  mine  heart 
will  break  if  that  murthering  Richard 
Topcliffe  must  sleep  under  your  roof." 

'•  God  defend  it !"  he  exclaimed. 
But  pausing  in  his  speech  leant  his 
arm  against  the  chimney  and  his  head 
on  it  for  a  brief  space.  Then  raising 
it,  said,  in  an  altered  tone,  "  Mine  own 
love,  be  patient.  We  must  needs 
drink  this  chalice  to  the  dregs"  (which 
showed  me  his  thoughts  touching  this 
visit  had  been  from  the  first  less  hope- 
ful than  mine).  Taking  my  pencil 
out  of  mine  hand,  he  walked  straight 
to  the  door  before  which  Mr.  Bowyer 
was  standing,  awaiting  us,  and  wrote 
thereon  Master  Topcliffe's  name.  Me- 
thought  his  hand  shook  a  little  in  the 
doing  of  it.  I  then  whispered  again 
in  his  ear: 

"  Know  you  that  Hubert  is  in  the 
queen's  retinue  ?" 

"No,  indeed!"  he  exclaimed;  and 
then  with  his  bright  winning  smile, 
"  Prithee  now,  sho\v  him  kindness  for 
my  sake.     He  had  best  sleep  in  my 


chamber  to-nlglit.     It  will  make  room, 
and  mind  us  of  our  boyish  days." 

The  day  was  vraning  and  long 
shadows  falling  on  the  grass  when 
tidings  came  that  her  majesty  had  been 
hunting  that  morning,  and  would  not 
arrive  till  late.  About  dusk  warning 
was  given  of  her  approach.  S!i:^ 
rode  up  on  horseback  to  the  hous  • 
amidst  the  loud  cheering  of  the  crowii, 
with  all  her  train  very .  richly  attireJ. 
But  it  had  waxed  so  dark  their  coun- 
tenances could  not  be  seen.  Her 
master  of  the  horse  lifted  her  from 
the  saddle,  and  she  went  straight  to 
her  own  apartments,  being  exceeding 
tired,  it  was  said,  with  her  day's  sport 
and  long  riding.  Notice  was  given 
that  her  highness  would  admit  none 
to  her  presence  that  evening.  How- 
soever, she  sent  for  Basil,  and,  giving 
him  her  hand  to  kiss,  thanked  him  in 
the  customary  manner  for  the  use  of 
his  house.  It  had  not  been  intended 
that  Lady  Tregony  and  I  should  sleep 
at  Euston,  where  the  room  did  scarce- 
ly suffice  for  the  queen's  suite.  S  > 
when  it  was  signified  her.  majesty 
should  not  leave  her  chamber  that 
night,  but,  after  a  shght  refection,  im-  ^ 
mediately  retire  to  rest,  and  her  ladies 
likewise,  who  were  almost  dead  with 
fatigue,  she  ordered  our  horses  to  be 
brought  to  the  back-door.  Basil  stole 
away  from  the  hall  where  the  lords 
and  gentlemen  were  assembled  for  to 
bid  us  good-night.  After  he  had  lift- 
ed me  on  the  saddle,  he  threw  his  arm 
round  the  horse's  neck  as  if  for  to  de- 
tain him,  and  addressing  me  very 
fondly,  called  me  his  own  love,  his 
sole  comfort,  his  best  treasure,  with 
many  other  endearing  expressions. 

Then  I,  loth  to  leave  him  alone 
amidst  false  friends  and  secret  ene- 
mies, felt  tenderness  overcome  me, 
and  I  gave  him  in  return  some  very 
tender  and  passionate  assurances  of 
affectioti ;  upon  which  he  kissed  mine 
hands  over  and  over  again,  and  our 
hearts,  overcharged  with  various  emo- 
tions, found  relief  in  this  interchange 
of  loving  looks  and  words.  But,  alas  J 
this  brief  interview  had  an  unthought 


208 


Constance  Sherwood. 


of  -vvitncss  more  than  good  Lady 
Tregoiiy,  who  said  once  or  twice, 
"  Come,  children,  bestir  yourselves," 
or  "  Tut,  tut,  we  should  be  off;"  but 
still  Kngered  herself  for  to  pleasure 
us.  I  chanced  to  look  up,  whilst  Ba- 
sil was  fastening  my  horse's  bit,  and 
.  by  the  light  of  a  lamp  projecting  from 
the  w^all,  I  saw  Hubert  at  an  open 
window  right  over  above  our  heads. 
I  doubt  not  but  that  he  had  seen  the 
laanner  of  our  parting,  and  heard  the 
significant  expressions  therein  used; 
for  a  livid  hue,  and  the  old  terrible 
look  which  I  had  noticed  in  him  be- 
fore, disfigured  his  countenance.  I 
am  of  opinion  that  until  that  time 
lie  had  not  believed  with  certainty 
that  my  natural,  unbiassed  inclination 
did  prompt  me  to  marry  Basil,  or  that 
I  loved  him  with  other  than  a  conven- 
ient and  moderate  regard,  which,  if 
cii'cumstances  reversed  their  positions, 
should  not  be  a  hindrance  to  Iiis  own 
suit.  Basil  having  finished  his  man- 
agement with  my  bridle  stepped  back 
with  a  smile  and  last  good-night,  all 
u.i conscious  of  that  menacing  visage 
wlilcli  my  terrified  eyes  were  now 
averted  from,  but  which  I  still  seemed 
pursued  by.  It  made  me  weep  to 
think  that  these  two  brothers  should 
lie  in  the  same  chamber  that  coming 
night ;  the  one  so  confiding  and  guile- 
less of  .heart,  the  other  so  full  of 
envy  and  enmity. 

I  was  so  tired  when  I  reached  home 
that  I  fell  heavily  asleep  for  some 
hours.  But,  awaking  between  five 
and  six  of  the  clock,  and  not  able  to 
rest  in  my  chamber,  dressed  myself 
and  went  into  the  garden.  Not  far 
from  the  house  there  was  an  arbor, 
with  a  seat  in  it.  Passing  alongside 
of  it,  I  perceived,  with  no  small  terror, 
a  man  lying  asleep  on  this  bench. 
And  then,  with  increased  affright,  but 
not  believing  mine  own  eyes,  but 
rather  thinking  it  to  be  a  vision,  saw 
Basil,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  in  the  same 
di'css  he  wore  the  day  before,  bat  with 
his  face  much  paler.  Aery  burst  from 
me,  for  methought  perluips  he  should 
be  dead.  But  he  awoke  at  ray  scream, 


looked  somewhat  wildly  about  him  foi 
a  minute,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  then 
with  a  kind  of  smile,  albeit  an  exceed- 
ing sad  one,  said, 

"  Is  it  you,  my  good  angel  ?" 

"  O  Basil,"  I  cried,  sitting  down  by 
his  side,  and  taking  hold  of  his  chilled 
hand,  ''  what  hath  happened  ?  Why 
are  you  here  ?" 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
Methinks  he  was  praying.  Then  he 
raised  his  pale,  noble  visage  and 
said  : 

"  About  one  hour  after  your  depart- 
ure, supper  being  just  ended,  I  was 
talking  with  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and 
some  other  gentlemen,  when  a  mes- 
sage was  brought  unto  me  from  I<ord 
Burleigh,  who  had  retired  to  his 
chamber,  desiring  for  to  speak  with 
me.  I  thought  it  should  be  somewhat 
anent  the  queen's  pleasure  for  the  or- 
dering of  the  next  day,  and  waited  at 
once  on  his  lordship.  When  I  came 
in,  he  looked  at  me  with  a  very  severe 
and  harsh  countenance.  '  Sir,'  he  said 
in  an  abrupt  manner,  '  I  am  mformed 
that  you  are  excommunicated  for 
papistry.  How  durst  you  then  at- 
tempt the  royal  presence,  and  to  kiss 
her  majesty's  hand  ?  You — unfit  to 
company  with  any  Christian  person — 
you  are  fitter  for  a  pair  of  stocks,  and 
are  forthwith  commanded  not  to  ap- 
pear again  in  her  sight,  but  to  hold 
yourself  ready  to  attend  her  councirs 
pleasure.'  Constance,  God  only 
knoweth  what  I  felt ;  and  oh,  may  he 
forgive  me  that  for  one  moment  I  did 
yield  to  a  burning  resentment,  and 
forgot  the  prayers  I  have  so  often  put 
up,  that  when  persecution  fell  on  me 
I  might  meet  it,  as  the  early  Chris- 
tians did,  wisii  blessings,  not  with 
curses.  But  look  you,  love,  a  judi- 
cial sentence,  torture,  death  methinks, 
should  be  easier  to  bear  than  this  in- 
sulting, crushing,  brutal  tone,  which  is 
now  used  toward  Catholics.  Yet  if 
Christ  was  for  us  struck  by  a  slave 
and  bore  it,  we  should  also  be  able  for 
to  endure  their  insolent  scorn.  Bitter 
words  escaped  me,  I  think,  albeit  I 
know  not  very  well  what  I  said  ;    but 


Constance  SJierwooa 


209 


bis  lonlship  turned  his  back  on  the 
man  he  liad  insulted,  and  left  the 
room  without  listening  to  me.  I  be 
|?lad  of  it  now.  What  doth  it  avail  to 
remonstrate  against  injuries  done  un- 
der pretence  of  law,  or  bandy  words 
with  a  judge  which  can  compel  you  to 
siK-nce  ?" 

"  Basil,"  I  cried,  "'  you  may  forgive 
tliat  rnan  ;  I  cannot." 

"  Yea,  but  if  you  love  me,  you  shall 
forgive  him,"  he  cried.  "  God  defend 
mine  injuries  should  work  in  thee  an 
unchristian  resentment !  Nay,  nay, 
love,  weep  not ;  think  for  what  cause 
I  am  ill-used,  and  thou  wilt  presently 
rejoice  thereat  rather  than  grieve." 

"  But  what  happened  when  that 
lord  had  left  you  ?"  I  asked,  not  yet 
able  to  speak  composedly. 

Then  he  :  "  I  stood  stock-still  for  a 
v\'hilc  in  a  kind  of  bewilderment,  hear- 
ing loud  laughter  in  the  hall  below, 
and  seeing,  as  it  did  happen,  a  man 
the  worse  for  liquor  staggering  about 
the  court.  To  my  heated  brain  it  did 
seem  as  if  hell  had  been  turned  loose 
m  my  house,  where  some  hours  be- 
ibre — "  Then  he  stopped,  and  again 
sinking  his  head  on  liis  hands,  paused 
a  little,  and  then  continued  without 
looking  up :  "  Well,  I  came  down 
tlic  stairs  and  walked  straight  out  at 
th3  front  door.  As  I  passed  the  hall 
I  heard  some  one  ask,  '  Which  is  the 
master  of  this  huge  house  ?*  and  an- 
other, whom  by  his  voice  I  knew  to  be 
Topcliffe,  answered,  '  Rookwood,  a 
papist,  newly  crept  out  of  his  ward- 
ship. As  to  his  house,  'tis  most  fit  for 
the  blackguard,  but  not  for  her  gra- 
cious majesty  to  lodge  in.  But  I  hope 
she  will  serve  God  with  great  and 
comfortable  examples,  and  have  all 
such  notorious  papists  presently  com- 
mitted to  prison.*  This  man's  speech 
seemed  to  restore  me  to  myself,  and  a 
lii-mer  spirit  came  over  me.  I  resolv- 
ed not  to  sleep  under  mine  own  roof, 
where,  in  the  queen's  name,  such  ig- 
nominious treatment  had  been  award- 
ed me,  and  went  out  of  my  house,  re- 
citing those  verses  of  the  Psalms,  '  O 
God,  save  me  in  thy  name,  and  in  thy 


strength  judge  me.  Because  strangers 
have  risen  up  against  me,  and  the 
strong  have  sought  my  soul.'  I  came 
here  almost  unwittingly,  and  not 
choosing  to  disturb  any  one  in  the 
midst  of  the  night,  lay  down  in  this 
place,  and,  I  thank  God,  soon  fell 
asleep." 

"  You  did  not  see  Hubert  ?"  I  timid- 
ly inquired. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  neither  before  nor 
after  my  interview  with  Lord  Bur- 
leigh. I  hope  no  one  hath  accused 
him  of  papistry,  and  so  this  time  he 
may  escape." 

"  And  who  did .  accuse  you  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  I  know  not,"  he  answered ;  "  we 
are  never  safe  for  one  hour.  A  dis- 
contented groom  or  covetous  neighbor 
may  ruin  us  when  they  list." 

"  But  are  you  not  in  danger  of  be- 
ing called  before  the  council  ?"  I  said. 

"Yea,  more  than  in  danger,"  he 
answered.  "  But  I  should  hope  a 
heavy  fine  shall  this  time  satisfy  the 
judges  ;  which,  albeit  we  can  ill  afford 
it,  may  yet  be  endured." 

Then  I  drew  him  into  the  house, 
and  we  continued  to  converse  till  good 
Lady  Tregony  joined  us.  When  I 
briefly  related  to  her  what  Basil  had 
told  me,  the  color  rose  in  her  pale, 
aged  cheek  ;  but  she  only  clasped  her 
hands  and  said, 

"  God's  holy  mil  be  done." 

'•  Constance,"  Basil  exclaimed, 
whilst  he  was  eating  some  breakfast 
we  had  set  before  him,  "  prithee  get 
me  paper  and  ink  for  to  write  to  Hu- 
bert." 

I  looked  at  him  inquiringly  as  I 
gave  him  what  he  asked  for. 

"  I  am  banished  from  mine  own 
house,"  he  said  ;  "  but  as  long  as  it  is 
mine  the  queen  should  not  lack  any- 
thing I  can  supply  for  her  comfort.  . 
She  is  my  guest,  albeit  I  am  deemed 
unworthy  to  come  into  her  presence ; 
I  must  needs  charge  Hubert  to  act  the 
host  in  my  place,  and  see  to  all  hos-- 
pitable  duties." 

My  heart  swelled  at  this  speecb.- 
Methought,  though  I  dared  not  uttei  ■ 


2IO 


Constance  Sherwood. 


my  thinking  for  more  reasons  than 
one,  that  Hubert  had  most  like  not 
Avaited  for  his  brother's  licence  to  as- 
sume the  mastership  of  his  house. 
The  messenger  was  despatched,  and 
then  a  long  silence  ensued,  Basil 
walking  to  and  fro  before  the  house, 
and  I  embroidering,  with  mine  eyes 
often  raised  from  my  work  to  look  to- 
ward him.  When  nine  o'clock  struck 
I  joined  him,  and  we  strolled  outside 
the  gate,  and  without  forecasting  to  do 
so  walked  along  the  well-known  path 
leading  to  Euston.  When  we  reached 
a  turn  of  the  road  whence  the  house  is 
to  be  seen,  we  stopped  and  sat  down 
on  a  bimk  under  a  sycamore  tree.  We 
could  discern  from  thence  persons  go- 
ing in  and  out  of  the  doors,  and  the 
country-folk  crowding  about  the  win- 
dows for  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
queen,  the  guard  ever  and  anort  push- 
ing them  back  with  their  halberds. 
■  The  numbers  of  them  continually  in- 
-  creased,  and  deputations  began  to  ar- 
rive Avith  processions  and  flags.  It 
was  passing  strangs  for  to  be  sitting 
there  gazing  as  strangers  on  this  tur- 
moil, and  folks  crowding  about  that 
house  the  master  of  which  was  ban- 
ished from  it.  At  last  we  noticed  an 
increased  agitation  amongst  the  people 
which  seemed  to  presage  the  queen's 
•  coming  out.  Sounds  of  shouting  pro- 
ceeded from  inside  the  building,  and 
then  a  number  of  men  issued  from  the 
front  door,  and  pushing  back  the 
crowd  advanced  to  the  centre  of  the 
green  plot  in  front  and  made  a  circle 
there  with  ropes. 

'•  What  sport  are  they  making  ready 
for  ?"  I  said,  turning  to  Basil. 

'•  God  knoweth,"  he  answered  in  a 
despondent  tone.       Then  came  others 
carrying  a.  great  armed-chair,  which 
..they  placed  on  one  side  of  the  circle 
ar*nd  other  chairs  beside  it,  and  some 
(country  people  brought  in  their  arms 
]  loads  of  fagots,  which  they  piled  up  in 
■  the  midst  of  the  green  space.   A  pain- 
ful suspicion  crossed  my  mind,  and  I 
stole  a  glance  at  Basil  for  to  see  if  the 
same  thought  had  come  to  him.      He 
was   looking   another   way.       I   cast 


about  if  it  should  be  possible  on  some 
pretence  to  draw  him  off  from  that 
spot,  whence  it  misgave  me  a  sorrow- 
ful sight  should  meet  his  eyes.  But  at 
that  moment  both  of  us  were  aroused  by 
loud  cries  of  "  God  save  the  queen  !" 
''  Long  live  Queen  EHzabeth  !"  and 
we  beheld  her  issue  from  the  house 
bowing  to  the  crowd,  which  filled  the 
air  with  their  cries  and  vociferous 
cheering.  She  seated  herself  in  the 
arm.ed-chair,  her  ladies  and  the  chief 
persons  of  her  train  on  each  side  of 
her.  On  the  edge  of  this  half- circle 
I  discerned  Hubert.  The  straining 
of  mine  eyes  was  very  painful ; 
they  seemed  to  burn  in  their  sockets. 
Basil  had  been  watching  the  forth- 
coming of  the  queen,  but  his  sight  was 
not  so  quick  as  mine,  and  as  yet 
no  fear  such  as  I  entertained  had 
struck  him. 

"  What  be  they  about  ?"  he  said  to 
me  with  a  good-natured  smile.  Before 
I  could  answer — "  Good  God  !"  he 
exclaimed  in  an  altered  voice  ;  "  what 
sound  is  that  ?"  for  suddenly  yells  and 
hooting  noises  arose,  such  as  a  mob  do 
salute  criminals  with,  and  a  kind  oi 
procession  issued  from  the  front  door. 
"What,  what  is  it?"  cried  Basil, 
seizing  my  hand  with  a  convulsive 
grasp  ;  "  Avhat  do  they  carry  ? — not 
Blessed  Mary's  image  ?" 

"Yea,"  I  said,  "I  see  Topcliffe 
walking  in  front  of  them.  They  will 
burn  it.  There,  there — they  do  lift  it 
in  the  air  in  mockery.  Oh,  some  peo- 
ple do  avoid  and  turn  away;  now 
they  lay  it  down  and  light  the  fagots." 
Then  I  put  my  hand  over  his  eyes  for 
that  he  should  not  see  a  sort  of  dance 
which  was  performed  around  the  fire, 
mixed  Avith  yells  and  insulting  gestures, 
and  the  queen  sitting  and  looking  on. 
He  forced  my  han^  away  ;  and  when 
I  said,  "  Oh,  prithee,  Basil,  stay  not 
here — come  with  me, "  he  exclaimed  • 

"  Let  me  go,  Constance  !  let  me  go  ! 
Shall  I  stand  aloof  when  at  mine  own 
door  the  Blessed  Motlier  of  God  is 
outraged  ?  Am  I  a  Jew  or  a  heretic 
that  I  should  enduie  this  sight  and  not 
smite  this  o"p^n  of  carlli.  wlu<'.]i  dareth 


Constance  SJierwood. 


21 


to  insult  tlic  Qaccii  of  Saints  ?  Tea, 
if  I  should  be  torn  to  pieces,  I  will  not 
suffer  them  to  proceed." 

I  clung  to  him  affrighted,  and  cried 
out,  •'  Basil,  you  shall  not  go.  Our 
Blessed  Lady  forbids  it ;  your  passion 
doth  blind  you.  You  will  offend  God 
and  lose  your  soul  if  you  do.  Basil, 
dearest  Basil,  'tis  human  anger,  not 
godly  sorrow  only,  moves  you  now." 
Then  he  cast  himself  down  with  his 
face  on  the  ground  and  wept  bitterly  ; 
which  did  comfort  me,  for  his  inflamed 
countenance  had  been  terrible,  and 
these  tears  came  as  a  relief. 

Meantime  this  disgusting  scene  end- 
ed, and  the  queen  withdrew;  after 
which  the  crowd  slowly  dispersed, 
smouldering  ashes  alone  remaining  in 
the  midst  of  the  burnt-up  grass.  Then 
Basil  rose,  folded  his  arms,  and  gazed 
on  the  scene  in  silence.  At  last  he 
said : 

"  Constance,  this  house  shall  no 
longer  be  mine.  God  knowetli  I  have 
loved  it  well  since  my  infancy.  More 
dearly  still  since  we  forecasted  to- 
gether to  serve  God  in  it.  But  this 
scene  would  never  pass  a,way  from 
my  mind.  This  outrage  hath  stained 
the  home  of  my  fathers.  This  people, 
whose  yells  do  yet  ring  in  mine  ears, 
can  no  longer  be  to  me  neighbors  as 
Iieretofore,  or  this  queen  my  queen. 
God  forgive  me  if  I  do  err  in  this.  I 
do  not  curse  her.  No,  God  defend  it ! 
I  pray  that  on  her  sad  deathbed — for 
Gurely  a  sad  one  it  must  be — she  shall 
cry  for  mercy  and  obtain  it  ;  but  her 
subject  I  will  not  remain.  I  will  com- 
pound my  estate  for  a  sum  of  money, 
and  will  go  beyond  seas,  where  God 
is  served  in  a  Catholic  manner  and  his 
Holy  Mother  not  dishonored.  Wilt 
thou  follow  mc  there,  Constance  ?" 

I  leant  my  head  on  his  shoulder, 
weeping.  "  O,  Basil,"  I  cried,  "I  can 
aiisvver  only  in  the  words  of  Ruth : 
'  Whithersoever  thou  shalt  go,  I  will  go ; 
and  where  ihou  shalt  dwell,  I  also  Avill 
dwell.  Tliy  people  shall  be  my  pco- 
pli\  and  thy  God  my  God.' " 

He  drew  my  arm  in  his,  ar.d  we 
walked  elov/ly  av/cy  towar;!  Fakcri- 


ha:n.  "Wishhig  to  prepare  his  mind 
for  a  possible  misibrtune,  I  said : 
"  AVe  be  a  thousand  times  happier 
than  those  which  shall  possess  thy 
lands." 

"What  say  you?"  he  quickly  an- 
swered ;  "  who  shall  possess  them  ?  ' 

"  God  knoweth,"  I  rephed,  afraid  t  ; 
npeak  further. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  he  exclaimed  : 
"  a  dreadful  thought  cometh  to  mc ; 
where  was  Hubert  this  morning  ?" 

I  remained  silent. 

"  Speak,  speak  !  O  Constance,  God 
defend  he  was  there  !" 

His  grief  and  horror  were  so  great 
I  durst  not  reveal  the  truth,  but  made 
some  kind  of  evasive  answer.  To  this 
day  methinks  he  is  ignorant  en  that 
point. 

The  queen  and  the  court  departed 
from  Euston  soon  after  two  of  the 
clock;  not  before,  as  I  since  heard, 
the  church  furniture  and  books  had 
been  all  destroyed,  and  a  malicious, 
report  set  about  that  a  piece  of  Lci* 
majesty's  plate  was  missing,  as  an  ex- 
cuse for  to  misuse  the  poor  senar.:.'- 
which  had  showed  grief  at  the  destruc- 
tion carried  on  befcre  their  eye?. 
When  notice  of  their  departure  reach- 
ed Banhaii  Hall,  whither  we  had  re- 
turned, Basil  immediately  went  bad: 
to  Euston.  I  much  lamented  ho 
Lhould  be  alone  that  evening,  ivi  tlic^ 
midst  of  so  many  sad  sights  and 
thoughts  as  his  house  now  should 
afford  him,  little  forecasting  the  event 
which,  by  a  greater  mishap,  .surmount- 
ed minor  subjects  of  grief. 

About  six  of  the  clock,  Sir  Francir- 
Walsingham,  attended  by  an  esquire 
and  two  grooms,  arrived  at  Lady  Tre- 
gony's  seat,  and  was  received  by  her 
with  the  courtesy  she  was  wont  to  ob- 
serve with  every  one.  After  some 
brief  discoursing  with  her  on  indiffer- 
ent matters,  he  said  his  business  was 
with  young  Mistress  Sherwood,  and 
he  desired  to  see  her  alone.  There- 
upon I  was  fetched  to  him,  and 
straightway  lie  began  to  speak  of  the 
queen's  good  opinion  of  me,  and  that 
h.cr  highness  had  been  -well  contented 


2\2 


Constance  Slierwood. 


with  mj  bcliavloi-  v.licii  I  Iiad  been 
admitted  into  lier  presence  at  liis 
"house;  and  that  it  should  well  please 
her  majesty  I  should  marry  a  faithful 
subject  of  her  majesty's,  whom  she 
liad  taken  into  her  favor,  and  then  she 
ivould  do  us  both  good. 

I  looked  in  a  doubtful  manner  at 
Sir  Francis,  feigning  to  misapprehend 
his  meaning,  albeit  too  clear  did  it  ap- 
pear to  me.  Seeing  I  did  not  speak, 
he  v/cnt  on : 

"  It  is  her  majesty's  gracious  desire, 
Mistress  Sherwood,  that  you  sliould 
marry  young  Rookwood,  her  newly 
appointed  servant,  and  from  this  time 
possvjssor  of  Euston  House,  and  all 
lands  appertaining  unto  it,  which  have 
devolved  upon  him  in  virtue  of  his 
brother's'  recusancy  and  his  own  recent 
confomiity." 

"  Sir,"  I  answered,  "  my  troth  is 
plighted  to  his  brother,  a  good  man 
and  an  honorable  gentleman,  up  to  this 
lime  master  of  Euston  and  its  lands; 
.nnd  whatever  shall  betide  him  or  his 
j)os3essions,  none  but  him  shall  be  my 
husband,  if  ten  thousand  queens  as 
^rcat  as  this  one  should  proffer  me 
jy-iolher." 

"  Madam,"  said  Sir  Francis,  "  be 
not  too  rash  in  your  pledges.  I  should 
be  loth  to  think  one  so  well  trained  in 
virtue  and  loyalty  should  persist  in 
maintaining  a  troth-phght  with  a  con- 
victed recusant,  an  exceeding  malig- 
nant papist,  who  is  at  this  moment  in 
the  hands  of  the  pursuivants,  and  by 
order  of  her  majesty's  council  commit- 
ted to  Norwich  gaol.  If  ho  should 
(which  is  doubtful)  escape  such  a  sen- 
tence as  should  ordain  him  to  a  last- 
ing imprisonment  or  perpetual  banish- 
ment from  this  realm,  his  poverty  must 
needs  constrain  him  to  relinquish  all 
l^rctensions  to  your  hand:  for  his 
brother,  a  most  learned,  well-disposed, 
commendable  young  gentleman,  with 
s;uch  good  parts  as  fit  him  to  aspire  to 
tiome  high  advancement  in  the  state 
and  at  court,  having  conformed  some; 
clays  ago  to  the  established  religion 
and  given  many  proofs  of  his  zeal  and 
sincerity  therein,  his  brother's  estates, 


as  is  most  just,  have  devolved  on  liira, 
and  a  more  worthy  and,  I  may  add, 
irom  long  and  constant  devotion  and 
fervent  humble  passion  long  sine 3  en- 
tertained for  yourself,  more  desirable 
candidate  for  your  hand  could  not 
easily  be  found." 

I  looked  fixedly  at  Sir  Francis,  and 
then  said,  subduing  my  voice  as  mucli 
as  possible,  and  restraining  all  ges- 
tures : 

"Sir,  you  have,  I  ween,  a  more 
deep  knowledge  of  men's  hearts  and 
a  more  piercing  insight  into  their 
thoughts  than  any  other  person  in  the 
world.  You  are  wiser  than  any  other 
statesman,  and  your  wit  and  sagacity 
are  spoken  of  all  over  Christendom. 
But  methinketh,  sir,  there  are  two 
things  which,  wise  and  learned  as  you 
are,  you  are  yet  ignorant  of,  and  these 
are  a  woman's  heart  and  a  Catholic's 
faith.  I  would  as  soon  wed  the  mean- 
est clown  which  yelled  this  day  at 
Blessed  Mary's  image,  as  the  future 
possessor  of  Euston,  the  apostate  Hu- 
bert Rookwood.  Now,  sir,  I  pray  you, 
send  for  the  pursuivants,  and  let  mo 
be  committed  to  gaol  for  the  sam3 
crime  as  my  betrothed  husband.  Gai 
knoweth  I  will  bless  you  for  it." 

"Madam,"  Sir  Francis  coldly  an- 
swereJ,  "the  law  taketh  no  heed  of 
persons  out  of  their  senses.  A  frantic 
passion  and  an  immoderxate  flinaticism 
have  distracted  your  reason.  Time 
and  reflection  wdli,  I  doubt  not,  recall 
you  to  better  and  more  comfortable 
sentiments  ;  in  which  case  I  pray  you 
to  have  recourse  to  my  good  offices, 
which  shall  ever  be  at  your  service." 

Then  bowing,  he  left  me  ;  and  when 
he  was  gone,  and  the  tumult  of  my 
soul  had  subsided,  I  lamented  my  ve- 
hcmency,  for  methought  if  I  had  been 
more  cunning  in  my  speech,  I  could  have 
done  Basil  some  good ;  but  now  it  was 
too  late,  and  verily,  if  again  exposed 
to  the  same  temptation,  I  doubt  if  I 
could  have  dissembled  the  indignant 
feelings  which  Sir  Francis's  advocacy 
of  Hubert's  suit  worked  in  me. 

Lady  Tregony,  pitying  my  unhappy 
plight,  propo.ic.l  to  travel  with  m'j  to 


Constance  Sherwood. 


2T3 


London,  where  I  was  now  desirous  to 
return,  for  there  I  thought  some  steps 
might  be  taken  to  procure  Basil's  re- 
lease, with  more  hope  of  success  than 
if  I  tarried  in  the  scene  of  our  late 
happiness.  She  did  me  also  the  good 
to  go  with  me  in  the  first  place  to  Nor- 
Avich,  where,  by  means  of  that  same 
governor  to  whom  Sir  Hammond  I'Es- 
trange  had  once  written  in  my  father's 
behalf,  we  obtained  for  to  see  Basil  for 
a  few  minutes.  His  brother's  apos- 
tasy, and  the  painful  suspicion  that  it 
was  by  his  means  the  secret  of  Owen's 
cell  at  Euston  had  been  betrayed,  gave 
him  infinite  concern  ;  but  his  own  im- 
prisonment and  losses  he  bore  with 
very  great  cheerfulness ;  and  we  en- 
tertained ourselves  with  the  thought 
of  a  small  cottage  beyond  seas,  which 
henceforward  became  the  theme  of 
such  imaginings  as  lovers  must  needs 
cherish  to  keep  alive  the  flame  of  hope. 
Two  days  afterward  I  reached  Lon- 
don, having  travelled  very  fast,  and 
only  slept  one  night  on  the  road. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  certain 
misfortunes  do  overtake  us  which,  had 
we  foreseen,  we  should  well-nigh  have 
despaired,  and  misdoubted  with  what 
strength  we  should  meet  them;  but 
God  is  very  merciful,  and  fitteth  the 
back  to  the  burthen.  K  at  the  time 
that  Basil  left  me  at  four  of  the  clock 
to  return  to  Euston,  without  any  doubt 
on  our  minds  to  meet  the  next  day,  I 
should  have  known  how  long  a  parting 
was  at  hand,  methinks  all  courage 
would  have  failed  me.  But  hope 
worketh  patience,  and  patience  in  re- 
turn breedeth  hope,  and  the  while  the 
soul  is  learning  lessons  of  resignation, 
which  at  first  would  have  seemed  too 
hard.  At  the  outset  of  this  trouble,  I 
expected  he  should  have  soon  been 
set  at  liberty  on  the  payment  of  a  fine  ; 
but  I  had  forgot  he  was  now  a  poor 
man,  well-nigh  beggared  by  the  loss  of 
his  inheritance.  Mr.  Swithin  Wells, 
one  of  the  best  friends  he  and  myself 
had — ^for,  alas !  good  Mr.  Roper  had 
died  during  my  absence — ^told  me  that, 
when  Hubert  heard  of  his  brother's 
arrest,  he  fell  into  a  great  anguish  of 


mind,  and  dealt  earnestly  with  hia 
new  patrons  to  procure  his  release,  but 
with  no  effect.  Then,  in  a  letter 
which  he  sent  him,  he  offered  to  remit 
unto  him  whatever  moneys  he  desired 
out  of  his  estates  ;  but  Basil  steadfast- 
ly refused  to  receive  from  him  so  much 
as  one  penny,  and  to  this  day  has  per- 
sisted in  this  resolve.  I  have  since 
seen  the  letter  which  he  wrote  to  him 
on  this  occasion,  in  which  this  resolu- 
tion was  expressed,  but  in  no  angry  or 
contumelious  terms,  freely  yielding 
him  his  entire  forgiveness  for  his  of- 
fence against  him,  if  indeed  any  did 
exist,  but  such  as  was  next  to  nothing 
in  comparison  of  the  offence  toward 
God  committed  in  the  abandonment  of 
his  faith ;  and  with  all  earnestness  be- 
seeching him  to  think  seriously  upon 
his  present  state,  and  to  consider  if  the 
course  he  had  taken,  contrary  to  the 
breeding  and  education  he  had  receiv- 
ed, should  tend  to  his  true  honor,  repu- 
tation, contentment  of  mind,  and  eter- 
nal salvation.  This  he  said  he  did 
plainly,  for  the  discharge  of  his  ov.n 
conscience,  and  the  declaration  of  a:i 
abiding  love  for  him. 

For  the  space  of  a  year  and  two 
months  he  remained  in  prison  at  Nor- 
wich, Mr.  Wells  and  Mr.  Lacy  fur- 
nishing him  with  assistance,  without 
which  he  should  have  lacked  the  nec- 
essaries of  life ;  leastways  such  conven- 
iences as  made  his  sufferings  toler- 
able. At  the  end  of  that  time,  it  may 
be  by  Hubert's  or  some  other  friend's 
efforts,  a  sentence  of  banishment  was 
passed  upon  him,  and  he  went  beyond 
seas.  I  would  fain  have  then  joined 
him,  but  it  pleased  not  God  it  should 
be  at  that  time  possible.  Some 
moneys  which  we're  owing  to  him  by 
a  well-disposed  debtor  he  looked  for 
to  recover,  but  till  that  happened  he 
had  not  means  for  his  own  subsistence, 
much  less  wherewith  to  support  a 
wife  in  howsoever  humble  a  fa&hion. 
Dr.  Allen  (now  cardinal)  invited  him 
to  Rheims,  and  received  him  there 
with  open  arms.  My  father,  during 
the  last  years  of  his  life,  found  in  him 
a  most   dutiful   and   affectionate  sonj, 


214 


Constance  Sherwood. 


who  closed  his  eyes  with  a  true  filial 
reverence.  Our  love  waxed  not  fcr 
this  long  separation  less  ardent  or  less 
tender ;  only  more  patient,  more  ex- 
alted, more  inwardly  binding,  now  so 
much  the  more  outwardly  impeded. 
The  greatest  excellency  I  found  in  my- 
self was  the  power  of  apprehending 
and  the  virtue  of  loving  his.  If  his 
name  appear  not  so  frequently  in  this 
my  writing  as  it  hath  hitherto  done, 
even  as  his  visible  presence  was  lack- 
ing in  that  portion  of  my  life  which 
followed  his  departure,  the  thought  of 
him  never  leaves  me.  If  I  speak  of 
virtue  in  any  one  else,  my  mind  turns 
to  him,  the  most  perfect  exemplar  I 
have  met  with  of  self-forgetting  good- 
ness ;  if  of  love,  my  heart  recalls  the 
perfect  exchange  of  affection  which 
doth  link  his  soul  with  mine  ;  if  of  joy, 
the  memory  of  that  pure  happiness  I 
found  in  his  society ;  if  of  sorrow,  of 
the  perpetual  grief  his  absence  did 
cause  me  ;  if  of  hope,  the  abiding 
anchor  whereon  I  rested  mine  during 
the  weary  years  of  separation.  Yea, 
when  I  do  write  the  words  faith,  hon- 
or, nobility,  firmness,  tenderness,  then 
I  think  I  am  writing  my  dear  Basil's 
name. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  year  which  followed  Basil's  ar- 
rest, and  during  which  he  was  in  the 
prison  at  Norwich,  I  wholly  spent  in 
London ;  not  with  any  success  touch- 
ing the  procuring  of  his  release,  as  I 
had  expected,  but  with  a  constant 
liope  thereof  which  had  its  fulfilment 
later,  albeit  not  by  any  of  the  means  I 
had  looked  to.  I  shared  the  while 
with  Muriel  the  care  of  her  now  aged 
and  very  infirm  parents,  taking  her 
place  at  home  when  she  went  abroad 
on  her  charitable  errands,  or  employed 
by  her  in  the  like  good  works  when 
my  ability  would  serve.  A  time 
Cometh  in  most  persons'  lives,  when 
maturity  doth  supplant  youthfulness. 
I  say  most  persons,  because  I  have  no- 


ticed that  there  are  some  who  never  do 
seem  to   attain   unto   any  maturity  of 
mind,  and   do  live   and  die   with  the 
same  childish  spirit  they  had  in  youth. 
To  others  this  change,  albeit  real,  is 
scarcely  perceptible,  so  gradual  are  its 
effects  ;  but  some  again,  either  from  a 
natural  thoughtfulness,  or  by  the  influ- 
ence of  circumstances  tending  to  sober 
in  them  the  exuberance  of  spirits  which 
appertaineth    to    early  age,   do    wax 
mature  in  disposition  before  they  grow 
old  in  years  ;  and  this  befel  me  at  that 
time.    The  eager  temper,  the  intent  de- 
sire and  pursuit   of  enjoyment  (of  a 
good  and  innocent  sort,  I  thank  God) 
which  had  belonged  to   me   till   then, 
did  so  much  and  visibly  abate,  that  it 
caused  me  some   astonishment  to  see 
myself  so   changed.     Joyful  hours  I 
have  since  known,  happy  days  where- 
in mine  heart  hath  been  raised  in  ador- 
ing thankfulness   to   the  Giver  of  all 
good  ;  but  the  color  of  my  mind  iiath 
no    more    resembled    that   of  former 
years,  than  the  hues  of  the   evening 
sky  can  be  likened  to  the  roseate  flusli 
of    early  morning.      The  joys  have 
been   tasted,  the   happiness   relished, 
but   not  with   the   same   keenness  as 
heretofore.      Mine   own  troubles,  the 
crowning   one   of  Basil's  misfortune, 
and  what  I  continued  then  to  witness 
in  others  of  mine  own   faith,  wrought 
in   me  these   effects.     The   life  of  a 
Catholic   in   England   in   these   days 
must  r.eeds,  I  think,   produce  one  of 
two  frames  of  mind.     Either  he  will 
harbor  angry  passions,  which  religion 
reproves,  which  change  a  natural  in- 
dignation into  an  unchristian   temper 
of  hatred,  and  lead  him  into  plots  and 
treasons  ;  or  else  he  becomes  detached 
from  the  world,  very  quiet,  given  to 
prayer,  ready  to  take  at  God's  hands, 
and  as  from  him  at  men's  also,  suffer- 
ings of  all  kinds ;  and  even  those  as 
yet  removed  from  so  great  perfection 
learn  to  be  still,  and  to  bethink  them- 
selves rather  of  the  next  world   than 
of  the  present  one,  more  than  even 
good  people  did  in  old  times. 

The    only  friends  I  haunted  at  that 
time  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swithin  Wells, 


Consta.zcc  Sherwood, 


215 


111  the  summer  of  that  year  1  heard 
oxie  day,  when  in  their  company,  that 
Father  Edmund  Campion  was  soon  to 
arrive  in  London.  Father  Parsons 
was  then  lodging  at  Master  George 
Gilbert's  house,  and  much  talk  was 
ministered  touching  this  other  priest's 
landing,  and  how  he  should  be  con- 
ducted tliither  in  safety.  Bryan  Lacy, 
Thomas  James,  and  many  others,  took 
it  by  turns  to  watch  at  the  landing- 
place  where  he  was  expected  to  dis- 
(jrabark.  Each  evening  Mr.  Wells's 
friends  came  for.  to  hear  news  thereof. 
One  day,  when  no  tidings  of  it  had  yet 
transpired,  and  the  company  was  leav- 
ing, Mr.  James  comes  in,  and  having 
shut  the  door,  and  glanced  round  the 
room  before  speaking,  says,  with  a 
smile, 

"  What  think  you,  sirs  and  ladies  ?" 

"  Master  Campion  is  arrived,"  cries 
Mistress  Wells. 

"  God  be  praised !"  cries  her  hus- 
band, and  all  giving  signs  of  joy  do 
gather  round  Mr.  James  for  to  hear 
the  manner  of  his  landing. 

"  Well,"  quoth  he,  "  I  had  been 
j)acing  up  and  down  the  quay  for  well- 
nigh  five  hours,  when  I  discerned  a 
boat,  which  (God  only  knoweth  where- 
fore) I  straightway  apprehended  to  be 
the  one  should  bring  Master  Campion. 
And  when  it  reached  the  landing- 
place,  beshrew  me  if  I  did  not  at  once 
see  a  man  dressed  in  some  kind  of  a 
merchant  suit,  which,  from  the  marks 
I  had  of  his  features  from  Master  Par- 
sons, I  made  sure  was  the  reverend* 
father.  So  when  he  steps  out  of  the 
boat  I  stand  close  to  him,  and  in  an 
audible  voice,  '  Good  morrow,  Ed- 
mund,' says  I,  wliich  he  hearing,  turns 
round  and  looks  me  in  the  face.  We 
both  Smile  and  shake  hands,  and  I 
lead  him  at  once  to  Master  Gilbert's 
house.  Oh,  I  promise  you,  it  was 
with  no  small  comfort  to  myself  I 
brought  that  work  to  a  safe  ending. 
But  now,  sir,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  Mr.  Wells, "  what  think  you  of  this  ? 
Nothing  win  serve  Master  Campion 
but  a  place  must  be  immediately  hired, 
and  a  spacious  one  also,  for  him  to  be- 


gin at  once  to  preach,  for  he  saith  he 
is  here  but  for  that  purpose,  and  that 
he  would  not  the  pursuivants  should 
catch  him  before  he  hath  opened  h'fj 
lips  in  England ;  albeit,  if  God  will 
grant  him  for  the  space  of  one  year 
to  exercise  liis  ministry  in  tliis  realm, 
he  is  most  content  to  lay  down  his  life 
afterward.  And  methinks  ho  con- 
siders Almighty  God  doth  accept  this 
bargain,  and  is  in  haste  for  to  begin." 

"Hath  Master  Gilbert  called  his 
friends  together  for  to  consider  of  it  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Wells. 

"  Yea,"  answered  Mr.  James.  "  To- 
morrow, at  ten  of  the  clock,  a  meeting 
will  be  held,  not  at  his  house,  for 
greater  security,  but  at  Master  Brown's 
shop  in  Southwark,  for  this  purpose, 
and  he  prayeth  you  to  attend  it,  sir, 
and  you,  and  you,  and  you,"  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  Bryan  Lacy,  Wil- 
liam Gresham,  Godfrey  Fuljambe, 
Gervase  Pierpoint,  and  Philip  and 
Charles  Bassett,  which  were  all 
present. 

The  next'  day  I  heard  fi-Dii  M:-3. 
Wells  that  my  Lord  Paget,  at  t!ie  in- 
stigation of  his  friends  ^/hich  met  at 
Mr.  Brown's,  had  hired,  in  his  own 
name,  Noel  House,  in  the  which  one 
very  large  chamber  should  serve  as  a 
chapel,  and  that  on  the  feast  of  St.  Pe- 
ter and  St.  Paul,  which  fell  on  the 
coming  Sunday,  Father  Campion 
would  say  mass  there,  and  for  the  first 
time  preach.  She  said  the  chief 
Catholics  in  London  had  combined  for 
to  send  there,  in  the  night,  some  vest- 
ments, some  ornaments  for  the  altar, 
books,  and  all  that  should  be  needful 
for  divine  worsliip.  And  the  young 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  which  had 
been  at  her  house  the  night  before,  and 
many  others  also,  such  as  Lord  Vaux, 
WDUam  and  Richard  Griffith,  Arthur 
Cress  well,  Charles  Tilvey,  Stephen 
Berkeley,  James  Hill,  Thomas  de»Sal- 
isbury,  Thomas  Fitzherbert,  Jerom 
Bellamy,  Thomas  Pound,  Richard 
Stanyhurst,  Thomas  Abmgton,  and 
Charles  Arundel  (this  was  one  o?  the 
Queen's  pages,  but  withal  a  zealous 
Catholic),  had  joine J  themselves  in  a 


2l6 


Constance  Sherwood. 


company,  for  to  act,  some  as  sacristans 
of  this  secret  chapel,  some  as  messen- 
gers, to  go  round  and  give  notice  of 
the  preachments,  and  some  as  porters, 
which  would  be  a  very  weiglity  office, 
for  one  unreliable  person  admitted  into 
that  oratory  should  be  the  ruin  of  all 
concerned. 

Muriel  and  I,  with  Mr.  Wells,  went 
at  an  early  hour  on  the  Sunday  to 
Noel  House.  Master  Philip  Bassett 
was  at  the  door.  He  smiled  when  he 
saw  us,  and  said  he  supposed  he  need- 
ed not  to  ask  us  for  the  password. 
The  chamber  into  which  we  went  was 
so  large,  and  the  altar  so  richly  adorn- 
ed, that  the  like,  I  ween,  had  not  been 
seen  since  the  queen  had  changed  tiie 
religion  of  the  country. 

Mass  was  said  by  Father  Campion, 
and  that  noble  company  of  devout  gen- 
tlemen aforementioned  almost  all  com- 
municated thereat,  and  many  others 
beside,  and  ladies  not  a  few.  When 
mass  Yvas  ended,  and  Father  Campion 
stood  up  for  to  begin  his  sermon,  so 
deep  a  silence  reigned  in  that  crowded 
assembly — for  the  chamber  was  more 
full  than  it  could  well  hold — that  a  pin 
should  have  been  heard  to  di'op. 
Some  thirsting  for  to  hear  Catholic 
])reaching,  so  rare  in  these  days,  some 
eager  to  listen  to  the  words  of  a  man 
famous  for  his  learning  and  parts, 
both  before  and  after  his  conversion, 
beyond  any  other  in  this  country.  For 
mine  own  part,  methought  his  very 
countenance  was  a  preachment.  When 
his  eyes  addressed  themselves  to 
heaven,  it  seemed  as  if  they  did 
verily  see  God,  so  piercing,  so  awed, 
so  reverent  was  their  gaze.  He  took 
for  his  text  the  words,  "  Thou  art  Pe- 
ter, and  on  this  rock  I  will  build  my 
church,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall 
not  prevail  against  it."  My  whole 
soul  was  fastened  on  his  words  ;  and 
albeit  I  have  had  but  scant  occasion 
to  compare  one  preacher  with  another, 
I  do  not  think  it  should  be  possible  for 
a  more  pathetic  and  stirring  eloquence 
to  flow  from  human  lips  than  his  who 
that  day  gave  God's  message  to  a  siif- 
feriilg  and  persesuted   people.     I  had 


not  taken  mine  eyes  off  his  pale  and 
glowing  face  not  for  so  much  as  one 
instant,  until,  near  the  close  of  his 
discourse,  I  chanced  to  turn  them  to  a 
place  almost  hidden  by  the  curtain  of 
an  altar,  Avhere  some  gentleman  were 
standing,  concealing  themselves  from 
sight.  Alas  !  in  one  instant  the  fervent 
glowing  of  my  heart,  the  staid,  rapt  in- 
tentness  with  which  I  had  listened,  the 
heavemvard  lifting  up  of  my  soul,  van- 
ished as  if  a  vision  of  death  had  risen 
before  me.  I  had  seen  Hubert  Rook- 
wood's  face,  that  face  so  like — oh, 
what  anguish  was  that  likeness  to  me 
then! — to  my  Basil's.  No  one  but 
me  could  perceive  him,  he  was  so  hid 
by  the  curtain  ;  but  where  I  sat  it 
opened  a  little,  and  disclosed  the  stern, 
melancholy,  beautiful  visage  of  the 
apostate,  the  betrayer  of  his  own 
brother,  the  author  of  our  ruin,  the  de- 
stroyer of  our  happiness.  I  thank 
God  that  I  first  beheld  hiin  again  in 
that  holy  place,  by  the  side  of  the  al- 
tar whereon  Jesus  had  lately  descend- 
ed, whilst  the  words  of  his  servan 
were  in  mine  ears,  speaking  of  love 
and  patience.  It  was  not  hatred,  God 
knoweth  it,  I  then  felt  for  Basil's 
brother,  but  only  terror  for  all  pres- 
ent, and  for  him  also,  if  peradventure 
he  was  there  with  an  evil  intent. 
Mine  eyes  were  fixed  as  by  a  spell 
on  his  pale  face,  the  while  Father 
Campion's  closing  words  were  uttered, 
which  spoke  of  St.  Peter,  of  his  crime 
and  of  his  penance,  of  his  bitter  tears 
and  his  burning  love.  '•  If,"  he  cried, 
'•  there  be  one  here  present  on  whose 
soul  doth  lie  the  guilt  of  a  like  sin  ; 
one  peradventure  yet  more  guilty  than 
Peter ;  one  like  Judas  in  his  crime  ; 
one  like  Judas  in  his  despair — to  him 
I  say,  There  is  mercy  for  thee  ;  tliere 
is  hope  for  thee,  there  is  ^heaven  for 
thee,  if  thou  wilt  have  it.  Djoni 
not  thyself,  and  God  will  never 
doom  thee."  These  or  the  like  words 
(for  memory  doth  ill  serve  rae  to  re- 
call the  fervent  adjurations  of  that 
apostolical  man)  he  used ;  and,  lo,  I 
beheld  tears  running  down  like  rain 
from  Hubert's  eyes^an  unchecked,  ve- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


21/ 


hement  torrent  which  seemed  to  defy 
all  restraint.  How  1  blessed  those 
tears  !  what  a  yearning  pity  seized  me 
I'or  him  who  did  shed  them !  How 
I  longed  to  clasp  his  hand  and  to  weep 
with  him !  I  lost  sight  of  him  when 
the  sermon  was  finished ;  but  in  the 
street,  when  we  departed — which  wai 
done  slowly  and  by. degrees,  for  to 
avoid  notice,  four  or  five  only  going 
out  at  a  time — I  saw  him  on  the  other 
side  of  the  pavement.  Our  eyes  met ; 
he  stopped  in  a  hesitating  manner,  and 
I  also  doubted  what  to  do,  for  I 
thought  Mistress  Wells  and  Muriel 
would  be  averse  to  speak  to  him. 
Then  he  rapidly  crossed  over,  and 
said,  in  a  whisper : 

"  Will  you  see  me,  Constance,  if  I 
com.e  to  you  this  evening  r" 

I  pondered ;  I  feared  to  quench,  it 
might  be,  a  good  resolve,  or  precipitate 
an  evil  one  by  a  refusal ;  and  building 
hopes  of  the  former  on  the  tears  I  had 
seen  him  shed,  I  said : 

"  Yea,  if  you  como  ac!  Basil's  broth- 
er and  mine." 

He  turned  and  w^alkcd  hastily  away. 

Mistress  Wells  and  Muriel  asked 
me  with  some  affright  if  it  was  Hu- 
bert wdio  had  spoken  to  me,  for  they 
had  scarce  seen  his  face,  although  from 
his  figure  they  had  judged  it  was  him  ; 
and  when  I  told  them  he  had  been  at 
Noel  House,  "  Then  we  are  undone !" 
the  one  exclaimed;  and  Muriel  said, 
'•  We  must  straightway  apprise  Mr. 
Wells  thereof;  but  there  should  be 
hopes,  I  think,  he  came  there  in  some 
good  disposition." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  I  answered,  and 
told  them  of  the  emotion  which  I  had 
noticed  in  him  at  the  close  of  the  ser- 
mon, which  comforted  them  not  a  lit- 
tle. But  he  came  not  that  evening ; 
and  Mr.  Wells  discovered  the  next 
day  that  it  was  Thomas  Fitzherbert, 
who  had  lately  arrived  in  London, 
and  was  not  privy  to  his  late  con- 
formity, which  had  invited  him  to  come 
to  Noel  House.  Father  Campion  con- 
tinued to  preach  once  a  day  at  the  least, 
often  twice,  and  sometimes  thrice,  and 
very  marvellous  effects  ensued.   Each 


day  greater  crowds  did  seek  admit- 
tance for  to  hear  him,  and  Noel  House 
was  as  openly  frequented  as  if  it  had 
been  a  public  church.  Numbers  of 
well-disposed  Protestants  came  for  to 
hear  him,  and  it  was  bruited  at  the 
time  that  Lord  Arundel  had  been 
amongst  them.  He  converted  many 
of  the  best  sort,  beside  young  gentle- 
men students,  and  others  of  all  condi- 
tions, which  by  day,  and  some  by  night, 
sought  to  confer  with  him.  I  went  to 
the  preachments  as  often  as  possible. 
We  could  scarce  credit  our  eyes  and 
ears,  so  singular  did  it  appear  that  one 
should  dare  to  preach,  and  so  many  to 
listen  to  Catholic  doctrine,  and  to  seek 
to  be  reconciled  in  the  midst  of  so  great 
dangers,  and  under  the  pressure  of  ty- 
rannic laws.  Every  day  some  new- 
comer was  to  be  seen  at  Noel  House, 
sometimes  their  faces  concealed  under 
great  hats,  sometimes  stationed  behind 
curtains  or  open  doors  for  to  escape 
observation. 

After  some  weeks  had  thus  passed, 
when  I  ceased  to  expect  Hubert  should 
come,  he  one  day  asked  to  see  me,  and 
having  sent  for  Kate,  who  was  then  in 
the  house,  I  did  receive  him.  Her 
presence  appeared  greatly  to  displease 
him,  but  he  began  to  speak  to  me  in 
Italian;  and  first  he  complained  of 
Basil's  pride,  which  would  not  suffer 
him  to  receive  any  assistance  from  him 
who  should  be  so  willing  to  give  it. 

"Would  you — "  I  said,  and  was 
about  to  add  some  cutting  speech,  but 
I  resolved  to  restrain  myself  and  by  no 
indiscreet  words  to  harden  his  soul 
against  remorse,  or  perhaps  endanger 
others.  Then,  after  some  other  talking, 
he  told  me  in  a  cunning  manner,  mak- 
ing his  meaning  clear,  but  not  couch- 
ing it  in  direct  terms,  that  if  I  would 
conform  to  the  Protestant  religion  and 
marry  him,  Basil  should  be,  he  could 
warrant  it,  set  at  liberty,  and  he  would 
make  over  to  him  more  than  one-halt' 
of  the  income  of  his  estates  yearly, 
which,  being  done  in  secret,  the  law 
could  not  then  touch  him.  I  made  no 
answer  thereunto,  but  fixing  mine  eyea 
on  him,  said,  in  English ; 


2L 


Constancs  Sherwood. 


"  Hubert,  what  should  be  your  opin- 
ion of  the  sermon  on  St.  Peter  and  St. 
Paul's  Day?"  He  changed  color. 
"  Was  it  not,"  I  said,  "  a  moving  one  ?" 
Biting  his  lip,  he  replied : 

"  I  deny  not  the  preacher's  talent." 

^•'  O  Hubert,"  I  exclaimed,  "  fence 
not  yourself  with  evasive  answers.  I 
know  you  believe  as  a  CathoHc." 

*'  The  devils  believe,"  he  answered. 

"  Hubert,"  I  then  said,  with  all  the 
energy  of  my  soul,  "  if  you  would  not 
miserably  perish — if  you  would  not 
lose  your  soul — promise  me  this  night 
to  retrace  your  steps ;  to  seek  Father 
Campion  and  be  reconciled."  His  lip 
quivered;  methought  I  could  almost 
see  his  good  angel  on  one  side  of  him 
and  a  tempting  fiend  on  the  other. 
But  the  last  prevailed,  for  with  a  bit- 
ter sneer  he  said : 

"Yea,  willingly,  fair  saint,  if  you 
will  marry  me." 

Kate,  who  till  then  had  not  much 
understood  what  had  passed,  cried  out, 
'•  Fie,  Hubert,  fie  on  thee  to  tempt  her 
to  abandon  Basil,  and  he  a  prisoner." 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  turning  to  her, 
"  recusants  should  not  be  so  bold  in 
their  language.  The  lavfs  of  the  land 
are  transgressed  in  a  very  daring  man- 
ner now-a-days.  and  those  who  obey 
them  taunted  for  the  performance  of 
their  duty  to  the  queen  and  the  coun- 
try." 

Oh,  what  a  hard  struggle  it  proved 
to  be  patient ;  to  repress  the  vehement 
reproaches  which  hovered  on  my  lips. 
Kate  looked  at  me  affrighted.  I  trem- 
bled from  head  to  foot.  Father  Cam- 
pion's life  and  the  fate  of  many  others, 
it  might  be,  were  in  the  hands  of  this 
man,  this  traitor,  this  spy.  To  upbraid 
him  I  dared  not,  but  wringing  my 
hands,  exclaimed: 

"  O  Hubert,  Hubert !  for  thy  moth- 
er's sake,  who  looks  dowa  on  us  from 
heaven,  listen  to  me.  There  be  no 
crimes  which  may  not  be  forgiven  ;  but 
some  there  be  which  if  one  doth  com- 
mit them  he  forgiveth  not  himself,  and 
is  likely  to  perish  miserably." 

"  Think  you  I  know  this  not  ?"  he 
fiercely  cried;  "think  you  not  that  I 


suffer  even  now  the  torment  you  speak 
of,  and  envy  the  beggar  in  the  street 
his  stupid  apfithy?"  He  drew  a  paper 
from  his  bosom  and  unfolded  ii.  A 
terrible  gleam  shot  through  his  eyes. 
"  I  could  compel  you  to  be  my  wife." 

"  No,"  I  said,  looking  him  in  the 
face,  "  neither  man  nor  fiends  can  give 
you  that  power.  God  alone  can  do  it, 
and  he  will  not." 

"  Do  you  see  this  paper  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Here  are  the  names  of  all  the  recu- 
sants who  have  been  reconciled  by  the 
Pope's  champion.  I  have  but  to  speak 
the  word,  and  to-morrow  they  arc 
lodged  in  the  Marshalsea  or  the  Tower, 
and  the  priest  first  and  foremost." 

"  But  you  will  not  do  it,"  I  said,  with 
a  singular  calmness.  "No,  Hubert; 
as  God  Almighty  liveth,  you  will  not. 
You  cannot  commit  this  crime,  this 
foul  murther." 

"  If  it  should  come  to  that,"  he  fierce- 
ly cried,  "  if  blood  should  be  shed,  on 
your  head  it  will  fall.  You  can  save 
them  if  you  list." 

"  Would  you  compel  mc  by  a  bloody 
threat  to  utter  a  false  vow  ?"  I  said.  "  O 
Hubert,  Hubert !  that  you,  you  should 
threaten  to  betray  a  priest,  to  denounce 
Catholics!  There  was  a  day — have 
you  forgot  it  ? — when  at  the  chapel  at 
Euston,  your  father  at  your  side,  you 
knelt,  an  innocent  child,  at  the  altar's 
rail,  and  a  priest  came  to  you  and  said, 
'  Corpus  Domini  nostri  Jesu  Christi 
cuslodiat  animam  tiiam  ad  vitam  ceter- 
nam.'   If  any  one  had  then  told  you  " — 

"Oh,  for  God's  sake  speak  not  of 
it!"  he  wildly  cried;  "that  way  mad- 
ness doth  lie." 

"  No,  no,"  I  cried ;  "  not  madness, 
but  hope  and  return." 

A  change  came  over  his  face;  he 
thrust  the  paper  in  my  hand.  "  De- 
stroy it,"  he  cried ;  "  destroy  it,  Con- 
stance !"  And  then  bursting  into  tears, 
"  Gad  knoweth  I  never  meant  to  do  it." 

"  O  Hubert,  you  have  been  mad,  dear 
brother,  more  mad  than  guilty.  Pray, 
and  God  will  bless  you." 

"Call  me  not  brother,  Constance 
Would  to  God  I  had  been  only  mad! 
But  it  is  too  late  now  to  think  on  it," 


Chapter  XXIII.— P.  218. 


Con3tanc3  Sherwood. 


219 


"Nay,  na}','*'  I  crlol,  "it  never  h 
too  late." 

*'Pray  for  mo  then,"  lie  said,  and 
\vent  to  the  door  :  but,  turning  sudden- 
ly, -vvhippered  in  a  scarce  audible  man- 
ncr^  "  Ask  Father  Campion  to  pray 
lor  me,"  and  then  rushed  out. 

Kate  had  now  half-fainted,  and  would 
Iiavc  it  we  were  all  going  to  be  killed. 
I  pacified  and  sent  her  home,  lest  she 
should  fright  her  parents  with  her 
rambhng  speeches. 

Albeit  Hubert's  last  words  had  seem- 
ed to  be  sincere,  I  could  not  but  call  to 
mind  how,  after  he  had  been  apparent- 
ly cut  to  the  hearb  and  moved  even  to 
tears  by  Father  Campio^i's  preaching, 
he  had  soon  uttered  threats  which, 
howsoever  recalled,  left  me  in  doubt  if 
it  should  be  safe  to  rely  on  his  silence ; 
so  I  privately  informed  Mr.  Wells,  and 
he  Master  George  Gilbert  and  Father 
Parsons,  of  what  had  passed  between 
us.  At  the  same  time,  I  have  never 
known  whether  by  Hubert's  means,  or 
in  any  other  way,  her  majesty's  coun- 
cil got  wind  of  the  matter,  and  gave 
out  that  great  confederacies  were  made 
by  the  Pope  and  foreign  princes  for 
the  invasion  of  (his  country,  and  that 
Jcsui-s  and  ccminary  priests  were  sent 
to  prepare  their  ways.  Exquisite  dili- 
gence was  used  for  the  apprehension 
of  all  such,  but  more  particularly  the 
Pope's  charnp'on,  as  Master  Campion 
was  called.  So  in  the  certainty  that 
Hubert  was  privy  to  the  existence  of 
the  chapel  at  Noel  House,  and  that 
many  Protestants  were  also  acquaint- 
ed with  it,  and  likewise  with  his  lodg- 
ing at  Master  EUiot's,  where  not  a  few 
resorted  to  him  in  the  night,  he  was 
constrained  by  Father  Parsons  to  leave 
London,  to  the  no  small  regret  of  Cath- 
olics and  others  also  which  greatly  ad- 
mired his  learning  and  eloquence,  the 
like  of  which  was  not  to  be  found  in 
any  other  person  at  that  time.  None 
of  those  which  had  attended  the  preach- 
ments at  Noel  House  were  accused, 
nor  the  place  wherein  they  had  met 
disclosed,  which  inclineth  me  to  think 
Hubert  did  not  reveal  to  her  majesty's 
government    his    knowledge   thereof. 


About  two  montlio  afterward  Basil's 
release  and  banishment  happened.  I 
v/ou!d  fain  have  seen  him  on  his  way 
to  the  coast ;  but  the  order  for  his  de- 
parture vras  so  sudden  and  peremptory, 
the  queen's  officers  not  losing  sight  of 
him  until  he  w^as  embarked  on  a  ves- 
sel going  to  France,  that  I  was  depriv- 
ed of  that  happiness.  That  he  was  no 
longer  a  prisoner  I  rejoiced;  but  it 
seemed  as  if  a  second  and  more  griev- 
ous separation  had  ensued,  now  that 
the  sea  did  divide  me  from  the  dear 
object  of  my  love. 

Lady  Arundel,  whose  affectionate 
heart  resented  with  the  most  tender 
pity  the  abrupt  interruption  of  our  hap- 
piness, had  often  written  to  1113  during 
this  year  to  urge  my  coming  to  Arun- 
del Castle ;  ^  for,"  said  she, "  melhinks, 
my  dear  Constance,  a  third  turtle-dove 
might  now  be  added  to  the  two  on  the 
Queen  of  Scotland's  design;  and  on 
thy  tree,  sweet  one,  the  leaves  are,  I 
warrant  thee,  very  green  yet,  and  fu- 
ture joys  shall  blossom  on  its  wholesome 
branches,  which  are  pruned  but  not  de- 
stroyed, injured  but  not  withered." 
She  spoke  with  no  small  contentment 
of  her  then  residence,  that  noble  castle, 
her  husband's  worthiest  possession  (as 
she  styled  it),  and  the  grandest  jewel 
of  his  earldom.  For  albeit  (thus  she 
wrote)  "  Kenninghall  is  larger  in  the 
extent  it  doth  cover  and  embrace,  and 
far  more  rich  in  its  decorations  and 
adornments,  I  hold  it  not  to  be  com- 
parable in  true  dignity  to  this  castle, 
which,  for  the  strength  of  its  walls,  the 
massive  grandeur  of  its  keep,  the  vast 
forests  which  do  encircle  it,  the  river 
which  bathes  its  feet,  the  sea  in  its  vic- 
inity and  to  be  seen  from  its  tower,  the 
stately  trees  about  it,  and  the  clingin:^ 
ivy  which  softens  with  abundant  ver- 
dure the  stern,  frowning  Avails,  hath 
not  its  like  in  all  England,"  But  a 
letter  I  had  from  this  dear  lady  a  few 
months  after  this  one  contained  the 
most  joyful  news  I  could  receive,  as 
will  be  seen  by  those  who  read  it : 

'•  My  good  Constance  "  (her  ladyship 
wrote.), ''  I  would  I  had  you  a  prisoner 
in  this  fortress,  to  hold  and  deiaiu  at 


220 


Constance  Sherwood. 


my  pleasure.  Methinks  I  will  present 
thee  as  a  recusant,  and  sue  for  the 
privilege  of  thy  custody.  Verily,  I 
should  keep  good  watch  over  thee. 
There  be  dungeons  enough,  I  warrant 
you,  in  the  keep,  wherein  to  imprison 
runaway  friends.  Master  Bayley  doth 
take  great  pains  to  explain  to  me  the 
names  and  old  uses  of  the  towers,  chap- 
els, and  buildings  within  and  without 
the  castle,  which  do  testify  to  the  zeal 
and  piety  of  past  generations :  the 
Chapel  of  St.  Martin,  in  the  keep, 
which  was  the  oratory  of  the  garrison  ; 
the  old  collegiate  buildings  of  the  Col- 
lege of  the  Holy  Trinity  ;  the  Maison- 
Dieu,  designed  by  Richard,  Earl  of 
Arundel,  and  built  by  his  son  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  river,  for  the  harbor- 
ing of  twenty  aged  and  poor  men,  eith- 
er unmarried  or  widowers,  which,  from 
infirmity,  were  unable  to  provide  for 
their  own  support ;  the  Priory  of  the 
Friars  Preachers,  with  the  rising  gar- 
dens behind  it ;  the  Cliapel  of  Blessed 
Mary,  over  the  gate ;  that  of  St.  James 
ad  Leprosos,  which  was  attached  to 
he  Leper's  Hospital;  and  St.  Law- 
rence's, which  standeth  on  the  hill 
above  the  tower ;  and  in  the  valley  be- 
low, the  Priory  of  St.  Bartholomew, 
built  by  Queen  Adeliza  for  the  monks 
of  St.  Austin.  Verily  the  poor  were 
well  cared  for  when  all  these  monaster- 
ies and  hospitals  did  exist ;  and  it 
doth  grieve  me  to  think  that  the  mon- 
eys which  were  designed  by  so  many 
pious  men  of  past  ages  for  the  good  of 
religion  should  now  be  paid  to  my  lord, 
and  spent  in  worldly  and  profane  uses. 
Howsoever,  I  have  better  hopes  than 
heretofore  that  he  will  one  day  serve 
God  in  a  Christian  manner.  And  now, 
methinks,  after  much  doubting  if  I 
should  dare  for  to  commit  so  weighty 
a  secret  unto  paper,  that  I  must  needs 
tell  thee,  as  this  time  I  send  my  letter 
by  a  trusty  messenger,  what,  if  I  judge 
rightly,  will  prove  so  great  a  comfort 
to  thee,  my  dear  Constance,  tliat  thine 
own  griefs  shall  seem  the  lighter  for 
it.  Thou  dost  well  know  how  long  I 
have  been  well-afFected  to  Catholic  re- 
ligion, increasing  tliereiu  daily  more 


and  more,  but  yet  not  wholly  resolved 
to  embrace  and  profess  it.  But  by 
reading  a  book  treating  of  the  danger 
of  schism,  soon  after  my  coming  here. 
I  was  so  efficaciously  moved,  that  I 
made  a  firm  purpose  to  become  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Catholic  and  only  true  Churcli 
of  God.  I  charged  Mr.  Bayley  to  seek 
out  a  grave  and  ancient  priest,  and  to 
bring  him  here  privately ;  for  I  desired 
very  much  that  my  reconciliation,  and 
meeting  with  this  priest  to  that  intent, 
should  be  kept  as  secret  as  was  possi- 
ble, for  the  times  are  more  trouble- 
some than  ever,  and  I  would  fain  have 
none  to  know  of  it  until  I  can  disclose 
it  myself  to  my  lord  in  a  prudent  man- 
ner. I  have,  as  thou  knoweth,  no 
Catholic  women  about  me,  nor  any  one 
whom  I  durst  acquaint  with  this  busi- 
ness ;  so  I  was  forced  to  go  alone  at 
an  unseasonable  hour  from  mine  own 
lodging  in  the  castle,  by  certain  dark 
ways  and  obscure  passages,  to  the 
chamber  where  this  priest  (whose  name, 
for  greater  prudence,  I  mention  not 
here)  was  lodged,  there  to  make  my 
confession — it  being  thought,  both  by 
Mr.  Bayley  and  myself,  that  otherwise 
it  could  not  possibly  be  done  without 
discovery,  or  at  least  great  danger 
thereof.  Oh,  mine  own  dear  Constance, 
when  I  returned  by  the  same  way  I 
had  gone,  lightened  of  a. burthen  so 
many  years  endured,  cheered  by  the 
thought  of  a  reconcilement  so  long  de- 
sired, strengthened  and  raised,  least- 
ways for  a  while,  above  all  worldly 
fears,  darkness  appeared  light,  rough 
paths  smooth;  the  moon,  shining 
through  the  chinks  of  the  secret  pas- 
sage, which  I  thought  had  shed  before 
a  ghastly  light  on  the  uneven  walls, 
now  seemed  to  yield  a  mild  and  pleas- 
ant brightness,  like  unto  that  of  God's 
grace  in  a  heart  at  peace.  And  this 
exceeding  contentment  and  steadfast- 
ness of  spirit  have  not — praise  him  for 
it — since  left  me ;  albeit  I  have  much 
cause  for  apprehension  in  more  ways 
than  one;  for  what  in  tliese  days 
is  so  secret  it  becometh  not  known  ? 
But  whatever  now  shall  befal  me — 
pubHc  dangers  or  private  sorrows — my 


Constance  Sherwood. 


221 


^iioi  do  rest  on  a  rock,  not  on  the  shift- 
ing sands  of  human  thinkings,  and  I 
iun  not  ai'raid  of  what  man  can  do  unto 
nie.  Yea,  Philip's  displeasure  I  can 
now  endure,  which  of  all  things  in  the 
world  I  have  heretofore  most  appre- 
iiended." 

The  infinite  contentment  this  letter 
fiave  me  distracted  me  somewhat  from 
ttic  anxious  thoughts  that  filled  my  mind 
at  the  time  it  reached  me,  which  was 
soon  after  Hubert's  visit.  A  few  days 
afterward  Lady  Arundel  wrote  again : 

''  My  lord  has  been  here,  but  stayed 
only  a  brief  time.  I  found  him  very 
affectionate  in  his  behavior,  but  his 
spirits  so  much  depressed  that  I  fear- 
ed something  had  disordered  him. 
Conversation  seemed  a  burthen  to  him, 
and  he  often  shut  himself  up  in  his 
own  chamber  or  walked  into  the  park 
with  only  his  dog.  When  I  spoke  to 
him  he  would  smile  with  much  kind- 
ness, uttering  such  words  as  '  sweet 
wife,'  or  '  dearest  Nan,'  and  then  fall 
to  musing  again,  as  if  his  mind  had 
been  too  oppressed  with  thinking  to 
allow  of  speech.  The  day  before  he 
left  I  was  sorting  flowers  at  one  end 
of  the  gallery  in  a  place  which  the 
wall  projecting  doth  partly  conceal. 
I  saw  him  come  from  the  hall  up  the 
stairs  into  it,  and  walk  to  and  fro  in 
an  agitated  manner,  his  countenace 
very  much  troubled,  and  his  gestures 
like  unto  those  of  a  person  in  gix?at 
pei-plexity  of  mind.  I  did  not  dare 
so  much  as  to  stir  from  where  I  stood, 
but  watched  him  for  a  long  space  of 
time  with  incredible  anxiety.  Some- 
times he  stopped  and  raised  his  hand 
to  his  forehead.  Another  while  he 
went  to  the  window  and  looked  in- 
tently, now  at  the  tower  and  the  val- 
ley beyond  it,  now  up  to  the  sky,  on 
wliich  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
were  throwing  a  deep  red  hue,  as  if 
tlie  world  had  been  on  fire.  Then 
turning  back,  he  joined  his  hands  to- 
gether and  anon  sundered  them  again, 
pacing  up  and  down  the  while  more 
rapidly  than  before,  as  if  an  inward 
conflict  urged  this  unwitting  speed. 
At  last  I  saw  him  stand  still,  lift  up 


his  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven,  and 
move  his  lips  as  if  in  prayer.  What 
passed  in  his  mind  then,  God  only 
know^eth.  He  is  the  most  reluctant  per- 
son in  the  world  to  disclose  his  thoughts. 

"  When  an  hour  afterward  We  met 
in  the  library  his  spirits  seemed  some- 
what improved.  He  spoke  of  his 
dear  sister  Meg  with  much  affection, 
and  asked  me  if  I  had  heard  from 
Bess.  Lord  William,  he  said,  was  the 
best  brother  a  man  ever  had;  and 
that  it  should  like  him  well  to  spend 
his  life  in  any  corner  of  the  world 
God  should  appoint  for  him,  so  that 
he  had  to  keep  him  company  Will  and 
Meg  and  his  dear  Nan,  *  which  1  have 
so  long  ill-treated,'  he  added,  *  that  as 
long  as  I  live  I  shall  not  cease  to  re- 
pent of  it ;  and  God  he  knoweth  I  de- 
serve not  so  good  a  wife  ;'  with  many 
other  like  speeches  which  I  wish  he 
would  not  use,  for  it  grieveth  mo  he 
should  disquiet  himself  for  what  is 
past,  when  his  present  kindness  doth 
so  amply  recompense  former  neglect. 
Mine  own  Constance,  I  pray  you  keep 
your  courage  alive  in  your  afliictions. 
There  be  no  lane  so  long  but  it  hath 
a  turning,  the  proverb  saith.  My 
sorrows  seemed  at  one  time  without 
an  issue.  Now  light  breaketh  through 
the  yet  darksome  clouds  which  do  en- 
viron us.  So  will  it  be  with  thee. 
Bum  this  letter,  seeing  it  doth  contain 
what  may  endanger  the  lives  of  more 
persons  than  one. — Thy  loving,  faith- 
ful friend, 

"  Ann,  Arundel  and  Surrey." 

A  more  agitated  letter  followed  this 
one,  written  at  different  times,  and  de- 
tained for  some  days  for  lack  of  a 
safe  messenger  to  convey  it. 

"  What  I  much  fear,"  s©  it  began, 
"  is  the  displeasure  of  my  lord  when 
he  comes  to  know  of  my  reconcile- 
ment, for  it  cannot,  I  think,  be  long 
concealed  from  him.  This  my  fear, 
dear  Constance,  hath  been  much  in- 
creased by  the  coming  down  from 
London  of  one  of  his  chaplains,  who 
afiirms  he  was  sent  on  purpose  by  the 
earl  to  read  prayers  and  to  preach  to 
me  and  my  family ;  and  on  last  Sun- 


222 


Constance  Slierwood, 


day  he  came  into  the  great  chamber 
of  the  castle,  expecting  and  desiring 
to  know  my  pleasure  therein.  I 
thought  best  for  to  send  for  him  to  my 
chamber,  and  I  desired  him  not  to 
trouble  himself  nor  me  in  that  matter, 
for  I  would  satisfy  the  earl  therein. 
But  oh,  albeit  I  spoke  very  composed- 
ly, my  apprehensions  are  very  great. 
For  see,  my  dear  friend,  Philip  hath 
been  but  lately  reconciled  to  me,  and 
his  fortunes  are  in  a  very  desperate 
condition,  so  that  he  may  think  I  have 
given  the  last  blow  to  them  by  this 
act,  which  his  enemies  will  surely 
brave  at.  Think  not  I  do  repent  of 
it.  God  knoweth  I  should  as  soon 
repent  of  my  baptism  as  of  my  return 
to  his  true  Church ;  but  though  the 
spirit  is  steadfast,  the  flesh  is  weak, 
and  the  heart  also.  What  will  he  say 
to  me  when  he  cometh  ?  He  did  once 
repulse  me,  but  hath  never  upbraided 
me.  How  shall  I  bear  new  frow^ns 
after  recent  caresses? — ^peradventure 
an  eternal  parting  after  a  late  reun- 
ion ?  O  Constance,  pray  for  me.  But 
I  remember  I  have  no  means  for  to 
send  this  letter.  But  God  be  praised, 
I  have  now  friends  in  heaven  which 
I  may  adjure  to  pray  for  me  who 
have  at  hand  no  earthly  ones." 

Four  or  five  days  later,  her  lady- 
ship thus  finished  her  letter: 

"  God  is  very  merciful ;  oh,  let  his 
holy  name  be  praised  and  magnified 
for  ever !  Now  the  weight  of  a 
mountain  is  ofi*  my  heart.  Now  I 
care  not  for  what  man  may  do  unto 
me.  Phil  has  been  here,  and  I 
promise  thee,  dear  Constance,  when 
his  horse  stopped  at  the  castle-door, 
my  heart  almost  stopped  its  beating, 
so  great  was  my  apprehension  of  his 
anger.  But,  to  my  great  joy  and 
admiration,  he  kissed  me  very  ten- 
derly, and  did  not  speak  the  least 
word  of  tiie  chaplain's  errand.  And 
when  we  did  walk  oui  in  the  even- 
ing, arid,  mounting  to  the  top  of  the 
keep,  stood  there  looking  on  the  fine 
trees  and  the  sun  sinking  into  the 
sea,  my  dear  lord,  who  had  been 
some  time  silent,  turned    to    mc  and 


said,  '  Meg  has  become  Catholic/ 
Joy  and  surprise  almost  robbed  me 
of  my  breath  ;  for  next  to  his  re- 
concilement his  sister's  was  what  I 
most  desired  in  the  world,  and  also 
I  knew  what  a  particular  love  ho 
had  ever  shown  for  her,  as  being  his 
only  sister,  by  reason  whereof  he 
would  not  seem  to  be  displeased 
with  her  change,  and  consequently 
he  could  not  in  reason  be  much  of- 
fended with  myself  for  being  what 
she  was  ;  so  when  he  said,  "  Meg  has 
become  Catholic,'  I  leant  my  face 
against  his  shoulder,  and  whispered, 

*  So  hath  Nan.'  He  spoke  not  nor 
moved  for  some  minutes.  Methinks 
he  could  have  heard  the  beatings  of 
my  heart.  I  w^as  comforted  that,  al- 
beit he  uttered  not  so  much  as  one 
word,  he  made  no  motion  for  to  with- 
draw himself  from  me,  whose  head 
still  rested  against  his  bosom.  Sud- 
denly he  threw  his  arms  about  mc, 
and  strained  me  to  his  breast.  So 
tender  an  embrace  I  had  never  before 
had  from  him,  and  I  felt  his  tears  fall- 
ing on  my  head.  But  speech  there 
was  none  touching  my  change.  How- 
soever, before  he  left  me  I  said  to  him, 

*  My  dear  Phil,  Holy  Scripture  doth 
advise  those  who  enter  into  the  ser- 
vice of  Almighty  God  to  prepare 
themselves  for  temptation.  As  soon 
as  I  resolved  to  become  Catholic,  I 
did  deeply  imprint  this  in  my  mind  ; 
for  the  times  are  such  that  I  must  ex- 
pect to  suffer  for  that  cause.'  '  Yea, 
dearest  Nan,'  he  answered,  ^vith  great 
kindness,  *  I  doubt  not  thou  hast  taken 
the  course  which  will  save  thy  soul 
from  the  danger  of  shipwreck,  al- 
though it  doth  subject  thy  body  to  the 
peril  of  misfortune.'  Then  waxing 
bolder,  I  said,  '  And  thou,  Phil — '  and 
there  stopped  short,  looking  what  I 
would  speak.  He  seemed  to  struggle 
for  a  while  with  some  inward  difficul- 
ty of  speaking  his  mind,  but  at  last  he 
began,  *  Nan,  I  will  not  become  Cath- 
olic before  I  can  resolve  to  live  as  a 
Catholic,  and  I  defer  the  former  until 
I  have  an  intent  and  resolute  purpose 
to  perform  the  latter.    0  Nan,  when  I 


Constance  Sherwood, 


223 


tliink  of  my  vllo  usage  oF  thee,  whom 
1  should  have  so  much  loved  and  es- 
teemed for  thy  virtue  and  discretion  ; 
of  my  wliolly  neglecting,  in  a  manner, 
my  duty  to  the  carl  my  grandfather, 
arid  my  aunt  Lady  Lumley  ;  of  my 
wasting,  by  profuse  expenses,  of  great 
sums  of  money  in  the  following  of  the 
courts,  the  estate  which  was  left  me, 
and  a  good  quantity  of  thine  own  lands 
also  ;  but  far  more  than  all,  my  total 
forgetting  of  my  duty  to  Almighty 
God — for,  carried  away  with  company, 
youthful  entertainments,  pleasures, 
and  delights,  my  mind  being  wholly 
])osscsscd  witli  Iheni,  I  did  scarce 
so  much  as  think  of  God,  or  of 
anything  concerning  I'chgion  or  the 
salvation  of  my  soul — I  do  feel  myself 
unworthy  of  pardon,  and  utterly  to  be 
contemned.' 

"  80  much  goodness,  humility,  and 
virtuous  intent  was  apparent  in  this 
speech,  and  such  comfortable  hopes  of 
future  excellence,  that  I  could  not 
forbear  from  exclaiming,  '  My  dear 
Phil,  I  ween  thou  wilt  be  one  of  those 
who  shall  love  God  much,  forasmuch 
as  lie  will  have  forgiven  thee  much.' 
And  then  I  asked  him  how  long  it  was 
shicc  tills  change  i  his  thinking,  al- 
beit not  yet  acted  upon,  had  come  to 
him  ?  He  said,  it  so  happened  that  he 
was  present,  the  year  before,  at  a  dis- 
putation held  in  the  Tower  of  London, 
between  Mr.  Sherwin  and  some  other 
priests  on  the  one  part,  Charles  Fuik, 
Whittakers,  and  some  other  Protestant 
ministers  on  the  other ;  and,  by  what 
he  heard  and  saw  there,  he  had  per- 
ceived, he  thought,  on  which  side  the 
truth  and  true  religion  was,  though  at 
tlic  time  he  neither  did  intend  to  em- 
brace or  follow  it.  But,  he  added, 
what  had  moved  him  of  late  most 
powerfully  thereunto  was  a  sermon  of 
Father  Campion's,  which  he  had 
heard  at  Ncel  House,  whither  Charles 
Arundel  had  carried  him,  some  days 
before  his  last  visit  to  mo.  '  The 
whole  of  those  days,'  ho  said,  '  my 
mind  was  so  oppressed  with  remorse 
and  doubt,  that  1  knew  no  peace,  un- 
til one    c\cning,  by  a    special    grace 


of  God,  when  I  was  walking  alone 
in  the  gallery,  I  firmly  resolved — al- 
beit I  knew  not  how  or  when  to  ac- 
complish this  purpose — to  become  ji 
member  of  his  Church,  and  to  frame 
my  life  according  to  it ;  but  I  would 
not  acquaint  thee,  or  any  other  person 
living,  with  this  intention,  until  I  had 
conferred  thereof  with  my  brother 
William.  Thou  knowest,  Nan,  the 
very  .special  love  I  bear  him,  and 
which  he  hath  ever  shown  to  m(!. 
Well,  a  few  days  after  I  returned  to 
London,  I  met  him  accidentally  in  the 
street,  he  having  come  from  Cumber- 
land touching  some  matter  of  Bess's 
lands  ;  and  taking  him  home  with  me, 
I  discovered  to  him  my  determination, 
somewhat  covertly  at  first ;  and  after 
I  lent  him  a  book  to  read,  which  was 
written  not  long  ago  by  Dr.  Allen, 
and  have  dealt  with  him  so  efficacious- 
ly that  he  has  also  resolved  to  be- 
come Catholic.  He  is  to  meet  me 
again  next  week,  for  further  confer- 
ence touching  the  means  of  putting 
this  intent  into  execution,  which  veri- 
ly I  see  not  how  to  effect,  being  so 
Thatched  by  servants  and  so-called 
friends,  which  besiege  my  doors  and 
haunt  mine  house  in  London  on  all 
occasions.' 

"  This  difficulty,  dear  Constance,  I 
sought  to  remedy  by  acquainting  my 
lord  that  his  secretary,  Mr.  Mumford, 
was  Catholic,  and  he  could,  therefore, 
disclose  his  thought  with  safety  to 
him.  And  I  also  advised  him  to  seek 
occasion  to  know  Mr.  Wells  and  some 
other  zealous  persons,  which  would 
confirm  him  in  his  present  resolution 
and  aid  him  in  the  execution  thereof. 
It  may  be,  therefore,  you  will  soon  see 
him,  and  I'ervently  do  I  commend  him 
to  thy  prayers  and  whatever  service 
in  the  one  thing  needful  should  be  in 
thy  power  to  procure  for  him.  My 
heart  is  so  transported  with  joy  that  1 
never  remember  the  like  emotions  to 
have  filled  it.  My  most  hope  for  this 
present  time  at  least  had  been  he 
should  show  no  dislike  to  my  being 
Catholic ;  and  lo,  I  find  him  to  be  one 
in  heart,  and  soon  to  be  so  in  effect ; 


Constayice  Sherwood. 


and  the  great  gap  between  us,  which 
r^o  long  hath  been  a  yawning  chasm 
ol*  despair,  now  filled  up  with  a  re- 
newed love,  and  yet  more  by  a  parity 
of  thinking  touching  what  it  most  be- 
hoveth  us  to  be  united  in.     Deo  gra- 

tias  r 

Ht;re  this  portion  of  my  lady's 
manuscript  ended,  but  these  few  hasty 
lines  were  written  below,  visibly  by  a 
trembling  hand,  and  the  whole  closed, 
I  ween,  abruptly.  'Methinks  it  was 
left  for  me  at  Mr.  Wells's,  where  I 
found  it,  by  Mr.  Mum  ford,  or  some 
oihci'  Catholic  in  the  carl's  house- 
hold: 

'•  The  inhabitanls  of  Arundel  have 
presented  me  for  a  recusant,  and  Mr. 
Bayley  has  been  committed  and  ac- 
cused before  the  Bishop  of  Chichester 
as  a  seminary  priest.  He  hath,  of 
course,  easily  cleared  himself  of  this  ; 
but  because  he  will  not  take  the 
oath  of  supremacy,  he  is  forced  to  quit 
the  country.  lie  hath  passed  into 
Flanders." 

And  then  for  many  weeks  I  had 
no  tidings  of  the  dear  writer,  until 
one  day  it  was  told  us  that  when  the 
qneen  had  notice  of  her  reconcilement 
:;ije  disliked  of  it  to  such  a  degree  that 
presently  she  ordered  her,  being  then 
with  child,  to  be  taken  from  her  own 
house  and  carried  to  Wiston,  Sir 
Thomas  Shirley's  dwelling-place,  there 
to  be  kept  prisoner  till  further  or- 
ders. Alas  !  all  the  time  she  remain- 
ed there  I  received  not  eo  much  as 
one  line  from  her  ladyship,  nor  did 
her  husband  either,  as  I  afterward 
found.  So  straitly  was  she  confined 
and  watched  that  none  could  serve  or 
have  access  to  her  but  the  knight  and 
his  lady,  and  such  as  were  approved 
by  them.  Truly,  as  she  since  told  me, 
they  courteously  used  her ;  but  special 
care  v/as  taken  that  none  that  was 
suspected  for  a  priest  should  come 
within  sight  of  the  house,  which  was 
'no  small  addition  to  her  sufferings. 
Lady  Margaret  Sackville  was  at  that 
time  also  thrown  into  priecn. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

During  the  whole  year  of  Lady 
Arundel's  imprisonment,  neither  h(?r 
husband,  nor  her  sister,  nor  her  most 
close  friends,  such  as  my  poor  un- 
worthy self,  had  tidings  from  her,  in 
the  shape  of  any  letter  or  even  mes- 
sage, so  sharply  was  she  watched  and 
hindered  from  communicating  with 
any  one.  Only  Sir  Thomas  Shirley 
wrote  to  the  earl  her  husband  to  in- 
form him  of  his  lady's  safe  delivery, 
and ,  the  birth  of  a  daughter,  which, 
much  against  her  will,  was  baptizixl 
accordmg  to  the  Protestant  manner. 
My  Lord  Arundel,  mindful  of  her 
words  in  the  last  mterview  he  had 
with  her  before  her  arrest,  began  to 
haunt  Mr.  "Wells's  houFC  in  a  private 
way,  and  there  I  did  often  meet  with 
him,  who  being  resolved,  I  ween,  to 
follow  his  lady's  example  in  all 
things,  began  to  honor  me  with  so 
much  of  his  confidence  that  I  had 
occasion  to  discern  how  true  had  been 
Sir  Henry  Jerningham's  forecasting, 
that  this  young  nobleman,  when  once 
turned  to  the  ways  of  virtue  and  piety, 
should  prove  himself  by  so  much  the 
more  eminent  in  goodness  as  he  had 
heretofore  been  distinguished  for  his 
reckless  conduct.  One  day  that  he 
came  to  Holborn,  none  others  being 
present  but  Mr.  and  Mrs,  Wells  and 
myself,  he  told  us  that  he  and  his 
brother  Lord  William,  having  deter- 
mined to  become  Catholics,  and  appre- 
hending great  danger  in  declaiing 
themselves  as  such  within  the  king- 
dom, had  resolved  secretly  to  leave 
the  land,  to  pass  into  Flanders,  and 
there  to  remain  till  more  quiet  times. 

"What  steps,"  Mr.  AVells  asked, 
"  hath  your  lordship  disposed  for  to  ef- 
fect this  departure  ?" 

"  In  all  my  present  doings,"  quoth 
the  earl,  '•  the  mind  of  ray  dear  wife 
doth  seem  to  guide  me.  The  last 
time  I  was  with  her  she  informed  me 
that  my  secretary,  John  Mumtbrd,  is  a 
Catholic,  and  I  have  since  greatly 
benefited  by  this  knowledge.  He  is 
gone  to  Hull,  in  Yorkshire,  lor  to  take 


Constance  Sherwood. 


225 


order  for  our  passage  to  Flanders,  and 
I  do  wait  tidings  from  him  before  1 
leave  London." 

Then,  turning  to  me,  he  inquired  in 
a  very  earnest  manner  if  my  thinking 
agreed  vrith  his,  that  his  sweet  lady 
should  be  contented  he  should  forsake 
the  realm,  for  the  sake  of  the  religious 
interests  which  moved  him  thereunto, 
joined  with  the  hope  that  when  he 
should  be  abroad  and  his  lands  confis- 
cated, which  he  doubted  not  would 
follow,  she  would  be  presently  set  at 
liberty,  and  with  her  little  wench  join 
him  in  Flanders.  I  assented  thereun- 
to, and  made  a  promise  to  him  that  as 
soon  as  her  ladyship  should  be  releas- 
ed I  would  hasten  to  her,  and  feast  her 
ears  with  the  many  assurances  of  ten- 
der affection  he  had  uttered  in  hgr  re- 
gard, and  aid  her  departure ;  which 
did  also  Mr.  Wells.  Then,  drawing 
me  aside,  he  spoke  for  some  time,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes^  of  his  own  good  wife, 
as  he  called  her. 

"  Mistress  Sherwood,"  he  said,  "  I 
lo  trust  in  God  that  she  shall  find  me 
icnceforward  as  good  a  husband,  to 
A\y  poor  ability,  by  his  grace,  as  she 
has  found  me  bad  heretofore.  No  sin 
grieves  me  anything  so  much  as  my 
offences  against  her.  What  is  past  is 
a  nail  in  my  conscience.  My  will  is 
t  o  make  satisfaction  ;  but  though  I 
should  live  never  so  long,  I  can  never 
do  so  further  than  by  a  good  desire  to 
do  it,  which,  while  I  have  any  spark 
of  breath,  shall  never  be  wanting." 

And  many  words  like  these,  which 
he  uttered  in  so  heartfelt  a  manner 
that  I  could  scarce  refrain  from  weep- 
ing at  the  hearing  of  them.  And  so 
we  parted  that  day ;  he  with  a  confi- 
dent hope  soon  to  leave  the  realm ; 
I  with  some  misgivings  thereon, 
which  were  soon  justified  by  the 
event  For  a  few  days  afterward 
Mr.  Lacy  brought  us  tidings  he  had 
met  Mr.  Mumford  in  the  street,  who 
had  told  him — when  he  expressed  sur- 
prise at  his  return — that  before  he 
could  reach  Hull  he  had  been  appre- 
hended and  carried  before  the  Earl  of 
Huntingdon,  president  of  York,  and 


examined  by  him,  without  any  evil  re- 
sult at  that  time,  having  no  papers  or 
suspicious  things  about  him ;  but  be- 
ing now  watched,  he  ventured  not  to 
proceed  to  the  coast,  but  straightway 
came  to  London,  greatly  fearmg  Lord 
Ai-undel  should  have  left  it. 

"  He  hath  not  done  so  ?"  I  anxious- 
ly inquired. 

"  Nay,"  answered  Mr.  Lacy,  "  so 
far  from  it,  that  I  pray  you  to  guess 
how  Vaq  noble  earl — much  against  his 
will,  I  ween — is  presently  employed." 

"  He  is  not  in  prison  ?"  I  cried. 

"  God  defend  it !"  he  rephed.  "  No  ; 
he  is  preparing  for  to  receive  the 
queen  at  Arundel  House  ;  upon  no- 
tice given  him  that  her  majesty  doth 
intend  on  Thursday  next  to  come 
hither  for  her  recreation." 

"  Alack !"  I  cried,  "  her  visits  to 
such  as  be  of  his  way  of  thinking  bode 
no  good  to  them.  She  visited  him  and 
his  wife  at  the  Charterhouse  at  the 
time  when  his  father  was  doomed  to 
death,  and  now  when  she  is  a  prisoner 
her  highness  doth  come  to  Arundel 
House.  When  she  set  her  foot  in 
Euston,  the  whole  fabric  of  my  happi- 
ness fell  to  the  ground.  Heaven  shield 
the  Hke  doth  not  happen  in  this  in- 
stance; but  I  do  greatly  apprehend 
the  issue  of  this  sudden  honor  confer- 
red on  him." 

On  the  day  fixed  for  the  great  and 
sumptuous  banquet  which  was  prepar- 
ed for  the  queen  at  Arundel  House,  I 
went  thither,  having  been  invited  by 
Mrs.  Fawcett  to  spend  the  day  with 
her  on  this  occasion,  which  minded 
me  of  the  time  when  I  went  with  my 
cousins  and  mine  own  good  Mistress 
Ward  for  to  see  her  majesty's  enter- 
tainment at  the  Charterhouse,  wherein 
had  been  sowed  the  seeds  of  a  bitter 
harvest,  since  reaped  by  his  sweet 
lady  and  himself.    Then  pageants  had 

charms  in  mine  eyes ;    now,  none 

but  rather  the  contrary.  Howsoever, 
I  was  glad  to  be  near  at  hand  on  that 
day,  so  as  to  hear  such  reports  as 
reached  us  from  time  to  time  of  her 
majesty's  behavior  to  the  earl.  From . 
all  I  could  find,  she  seemed  very  well 


226 


Gonstanc3  Sherwood, 


contented;  and  Mr.  Mumford,  with 
whom  I  was  acquainted,  came  to  Mrs. 
Fawcett's  chamber,  hearing  I  was 
there,  and  reported  that  her  highnass 
had  given  his  lordship  many  thanks 
for  her  entertainment,  and  showed 
herself  exceeding  merrj  all  the  time 
she  was  at  table,  asking  him  many 
questions,  and  relating  anecdotes 
which  she  had  learnt  from  Sir  Fulke 
Greville,  whom  the  maids-of-honor 
were  wont  to  say  brought  her  all  the 
tales  she  heard  ;  at  which  Mrs.  Faw- 
cett  said  that  gentleman  had  once  de-. 
clared  that  he  was  like  Robin  Good- 
fellow  ;  for  that  when  the  dairy -maids 
upset  the  milk-pans,  or  made  a  romp- 
ing and  racket,  they  laid  it  all  on 
Robin,  and  so,  whatever  gossip-tales 
the  queen's  ladies  told  her,  they  laid  it 
all  upon  him,  if  he  was  ever  so  inno- 
cent of  it. 

"Sir,"  I  said  to  Mr.  Mumford, 
"think  you  her  majesty  hath  said 
aught  to  my  lord  touching  his  lady  or 
his  lately -born  little  daughter  ?" 

"  Once,"  he  answered,  "  v/hen  she 
told  of  the  noble  trick  she  hath  played 
Sir  John  Spencer  touching  his  grand- 
son, Avhom  he  would  not  see  because 
his  daughter  did  decamp  from  his 
house  in  a  baker's  basket  for  to  marry 
Sir  Henry  Compton,  and  her  majesty 
invited  him  to  be  her  gossip  at  the 
christening  of  a  fair  boy  to  whom  she 
did  intend  to  stand  godmother,  for  that 
he  was  the  first-born  child  of  a  young 
couple  who  had  married  for  .love  and 
lived  happily ;  and  so  the  old  knight 
said,  as  he  had  no  heir,  he  should 
adopt  this  boy,  for  he  had  disinherited 
his  daughter.  So  then,  at  the  font,  the 
queen  names  him  Spencer,  and  when 
fihe  leaves  the  church,  straightway  re- 
veals to  Sir  John  that  his  godson  is 
his  grandson,  and  deals  so  cunningly 
with  him  that  a  reconciliation  doth 
ensue.  Well,  when  she  related  this 
event,  my  lord  said  in  a  low  voice,  '  Oh 
raadame,  would  it  might  please  your 
majesty  for  to  place  another  child,  now 
at  its  mother's  breast,  a  first-born  one* 
also,  in  its  father's  arms  !  and  as  by 
your  gracious  dealing  your  highness 


wrought  a  reconciliation  between  a  fa- 
ther  and  a  daughter,  so  likewise  now 
to  reunite  a  parted  husband  from  a 
wife  which  hath  too  long  languished 
under  your  royal  displeasure.'  " 

"  What  answered  her  grace  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  A  few  words,  the  sense  of  which  I 
could  not  catch,"  Mr.  Mumford  an- 
swered ;  "  being  placed  so  as  to  hear 
my  lord's  speaking  more  conveniently 
than  her  replies.  He  said  again, 
*  The  displeasure  of  a  prince  is  a 
heavy  burden  to  bear.'  And  then, 
methinks,  some  other  talk  was  minis- 
tered of  a  lighter  sort.  But  be  of  good 
heart,  Mistress  Sherwood ;  I  cannot 
but  think  our  dear  lady  shall  soon  be 
set  at  liberty." 

Mr.  Mum  ford's  words  were  justi- 
fied in  a  few  days  ;  for,  to  my  un- 
speakable joy,  I  heard  Lady  Arun- 
del had  been  released  by  order  of 
the  queen,  and  had  returned  to  Arun- 
del Castle.  It  was  her  lord  him- 
self who  brought  me  the  good  tid- 
ings, and  said  he  should  travel 
thither  in  three  days,  when  his  ab- 
sence from  court  should  be  less  noted, 
as  then  her  majesty  would  be  at  Rich- 
mond. He  shelved  me  a  letter  he 
had  received  from  his  lady,  the  first 
she  had  been  able  to  write  to  him 
for  a  whole  year.  She  did  therein 
express  her  contentment,  greater,  she 
said,  than  her  pen  could  describe,  at 
the  sight  of  the  gray  ivied  walls,  the 
noble  keep,  her  own  chamber  and  its 
familiar  furniture,  and  mostly  at  the 
thought  of  his  soon  coming  ;  and  that 
little  Bess  had  so  much  sense  already, 
that  when  she  heard  his  name,  noth- 
ing would  serve  her  but  to  be  carried 
to  the  window,  "  whence,  methinks," 
the  sweet  lady  said,  "  she  doth  see  me 
always  looking  toward  the  entrance- 
gate,  through  which  all  my  joy  will 
speedily  come  to  me.  When,  for  to 
cheat  myself  and  her,  I  cry,  '  Hark 
to  my  lord's  horse  crossing  the  bridge,' 
she  coos,  so  much  as  to  say  she  is 
glad  also,  and  stretcheth  lier  arms 
out,  the  pretty  fool,  as  if  to  welcome 
her    unseen    father,    who,   methinks. 


Constance  Sherwood. 


227 


when  he  doth  come,  will  bo  no 
stranger  to  her,  so  often  doth  she 
kiss  the  picture  which  hangeth  about 
lier  mother's  neck." 

But,  alas !  before  the  queen  went 
to  Richmond,  she  sent  a  command  that 
my  Lord  Arundel  should  not  go  any- 
wiiitlier  out  of  his  house  (so  Mr.  Mum- 
ford  informed  me),  but  remain  there 
a  prisoner ;  and  my  Lord  Hunsdon, 
who  had  been  in  former  times  his  fa- 
ther's page,  and  now  was  his  great 
enemy,  was  given  commission  to  ex- 
amine him  about  his  religion,  and  also 
touching  Dr.  Allen  and  the  Queen  of 
Scots.  Now  was  all  the  joy  of  Lady 
ArundeFs  release  at  an  end.  Now 
the  sweet  cooings  of  her  babe  moved 
her  to  bitter  tears.  "  In  vain,"  she 
wrote  tame  then,  "  do  we  now  look 
for  him  to  come !  in  vain  listen  for  the 
sound  of  his  horse's  tread,  or  watch 
the  gateway  which  shall  not  open  to 
admit  him  !  I  sigh  for  to  be  once 
more  a  prisoner,  and  he,  my  sweet 
life,  at  liberty.  Alas!  what  kind  of  a 
destiny  does  this  prove,  if  one  is  free 
only  when  the  other  is  shut  up,  and 
the  word  *  parting'  is  written  on  each 
page  of  our  lives  ?" 

About  a  month  afterward,  Mr. 
Mumford  was  sent  for  by  Sir  Christo- 
pher Hatton,  who  asked  him  divers 
dangerous  questions  concerning  the 
earl,  the  countess,  and  Lord  William 
Howard,  and  also  himself — such  as, 
if  he  was  a  priest  or  no  ;  which  indeed 
I  did  not  wonder  at,  so  staid  and  rev- 
erend was  his  appearance.  But  he 
answered  he  never  knew  or  ever 
heard  any  harm  of  these  honorable 
persons,  and  that  he  himself  was  not 
a  priest,  nor  worthy  of  so  great  a  dig- 
nity. He  hath  since  told  me  that  on 
the  third  day  of  his  examination  the 
queen,  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  and  divers 
others  of  the  council  came  into  the 
liouse  for  to  understand  what  he  had 
confessed.  Sir  Christopher  told  them 
what  answers  he  had  made ;  but  they, 
not  resting  satisfied  therewith,  caused 
him,  after  many  threats  of  racking 
and  other  tortures,  to  be  sent  prisoner 
to  the  Gate-house,  where  he  was  kept 


for  some  months  so  close  that  none 
might  speak  or  come  to  him.  But  by 
the  steadfastness  of  his  answers  he  at 
last  so  cleared  himself,  and  declared 
the  innocency  of  the  earl,  and  his  wife 
and  brother,  that  they  were  set  at 
liberty. 

Soon  after  her  lord's  release,  I  re- 
ceived this  brief  letter  from  Lady 
Arundel : 

"  Mine  own  good  Constance, — 
I  have  seen  my  lord,  who  came  here 
the  day  after  he  was  set  free.  He 
very  earnestly  desires  to  put  into  exe- 
cution his  reconciliation  to  the  Church 
now  that  his  troubles  are  a  little  over- 
past. I  have  bethought  myself  that, 
since  Father  Campion  hath  left  Lon- 
don, diligence  might  be  used  for  to 
procure  him  a  meeting  Avith  Father 
Edmonds,  whom  I  have  heard  com- 
mended for  a  very  virtuous  and  reli- 
gious priest,  much  esteemed  both  in 
this  and  other  countries.  Prithee,  ask 
Mr.  Wells  if  in  his  thinking  this 
should  be  possible,  and  let  my  lord 
know  of  the  means  and  opportunities 
thereunto.  I  shall  never  be  so  much 
indebted,  nor  he  either,  to  any  one  in 
this  world,  my  dear  Constance,  as  to 
thee  and  thy  good  friends,  if  this  inter- 
view shall  be  brought  to  pass,  and  the 
desired  effect  ensue. 

"  My  Bess  doth  begin  to  walk  alone, 
and  hath  learned  to  make  the  sign  of 
the  cross  ;  but  I  warrant  thee  I  am 
sometimes  frightened  that  I  did  teach 
her  to  bless  herself,  uutil  such  time  as 
she  can  understand  not  to  display  her 
piety  so  openly  as  she  now  doeth. 
For  when  many  lords  and  gentlemen 
were  here  last  week  for  to  consider 
the  course  her  majesty's  progress 
should  take  through  Kent  and  Sussex, 
and  she,  sitting  on  my  knee,  was  no- 
ticed by  some  of  them  for  her  pretty 
ways,  the  clock  did  strike  twelve ; 
upon  which,  what  doth  she  do  but 
straightway  makes  the  sign  of  the 
cross  before  I  could  catch  her  little 
hand?  Lord  Cobham  frowned,  and 
my  Lord  Burleigh  shook  his  head; 
but  the  Bishop  of  Chichester  stroked 


228 


Constance  Sherwood, 


her  head,  and  said,  with  a  smile, 
*  Honi  soit  qui  malypense  ;'  for  which 
I  pray  God  to  bless  him.  Oh,  but 
what  fears  we  do  daily  live  in  !  I 
would  sometimes  we  were  beyond 
seas.  But  if  my  lord  is  once  recon- 
ciled, methinks  I  can  endure  all  that 
may  befal  us.  Thy  true  and  loving 
friend, 

"  Ann,  Auundel  and  Surrey." 

I  straightway  repaired  to  Mr.  Wells, 
and  found  him  to  be  privy  to  Father 
Edmonds's  abode.  At  my  request,  he 
acquainted  Lord  Arundel  with  this 
secret,  who  speedily  availed  himself 
thereof,  and  after  a  few  visits  to  this 
good  man's  garret,  wherein  he  Avas 
concealed,  was  by  him  reconciled,  as  I 
soon  learnt  by  a  letter  from  his  lady. 
She  wrote  in  such  perfect  contentment 
and  joy  thereunto,  that  nothing  could 
exceed  it.  She  said  her  dear  lord  had 
recei\^d  so  much  comfort  in  his  soul 
as  he  had  never  felt  before  in  all  his 
life,  and  such  directions  from  Father 
Edmonds  for  the  amending  and  order- 
ing of  it  as  did  greatly  help  and  fur- 
ther him  therein.  Ever  after  that 
time,  from  mine  own  hearing  and  ob- 
servation, his  lady's  letters,  and  the 
report  of  such  as  haunted  him,  I 
learnt  that  he  lived  in  such  a  manner 
that  ko  seemed  to  be  changed  into  an- 
other man,  having  great  care  and  vig- 
ilance over  all  his  actions,  and  addict- 
ing himself  much  to  piety  and  devo- 
tion. He  procured  to  have  a  priest 
ever  with  him  in  his  own  house,  by 
whom  he  might  frequently  receive 
the  holy  sacrament,  and  daily  have 
the  comfort  to  be  present  at  the  holy 
sacrifice,  whereto,  wdth  great  humility 
and  reverence,  he  himself  in  person 
many  times  would  serve.  His  visits 
to  his  wife  were,  during  the  next 
years,  as  frequent  as  he  could  make 
them  and  as  his  duties  at  the  court 
and  the  queen's  emergencies  would  al- 
low of;  who,  albeit  she  looked  not  on 
him  with  favor  as  heretofore,  did 
nevertheless  exact  an  unremitting  at- 
tendance on  his  part  on  all  public  oc- 
casions, and  jealously  noted  every  ab- 


sence he  made  from  London.  Each 
interview  between  this  now  loving 
husband  and  wife  was  a  brief  space  of 
perfect  contentment  to  both,  and  a  re- 
spite from  the  many  cares  and  trou- 
bles which  did  continually  increase 
upon  him  ;  for  the  great  change  in  his 
manner  of  life  had  bred  suspicion  in 
the  minds  of  some  courtiers  and 
potent  men,  who  therefore  began  to 
think  him  what  he  was  indeed,  but  of 
which  no  proof  could  be  alleged. 

During  the  year  which  followed 
these  haps  mine  aunt  died,  and  Mr. 
Congleton  sold  his  house  in  Ely 
Place,  and  took  a  small  one  in  Gray's 
Inn  Lane,  near  to  Mr.  Wells's  and 
Mr.  Lacy's.  It  had  no  garden,  nor 
the  many  conveniences  the  other  did 
afford ;  but  neither  Muriel  nor  myself ' 
did  lament  the  change,  for  the  vicinity 
of  these  good  friends  did  supply  the 
place  of  other  advantages  ;  and  it  also 
liked  me  more,  whilst  Basil  lived  in 
poverty  abroad,  to  inhabit  a  less 
sumptuous  abode  than  heretofore,  and 
dispense  with  accustomed  luxuries. 
Of  Hubert  I  could  hear  but  scanty 
tidings  at  that  time — only  that  he  had 
either  lost  or  resigned  his  pla^e  at 
court.  Mr.  Hodgson  was  told  by  one 
who  had  been  his  servant  that  he  had 
been  reconciled;  others  said  he  did 
lead  a  very  disordered  life,  and  haunt- 
ed bad  persons.  The  truth  or  falsity  of 
these  statements  I  could  not  then  dis- 
cern ;  but  methinks,  from  what  I  have 
since  learnt,  both  might  be  partly  true ; 
for  he  became  subject  to  fits  of  gloom, 
and  so  dis comfortable  a  remorse  as 
almost  unsettled  his  reason  ;  and  then, 
at  other  times,  plunged  into  worldly 
excesses  for  to  drown  thoughts  of  the 
past.  He  was  frightened,  I  ween,  or 
leastways  distrustful  of  the  society  of 
good  men,  but  consorted  with  Catho- 
lics of  somewhat  desperate  character 
and  fortunes,  and  such  as  dealt  in 
plots  and  treasonable  schemes. 

Father  Campion  a  arrest  for  a  very 
different  cause — albeit  his  enemies  did 
seek  to  attach  to  him  the  name  of  trai- 
tor— occurred  this  year  at  Mrs.  Yates's 
house  in  Worcestershire,  and  couster- 


Oonslance  Sherwood, 


229 


nated  the  hearts  of  all  recusants  ;  but 
when  he  came  to  London,  and  speech 
was  had  of  him  bj  many  amongst 
them  which  gained  access  to  him  in 
prison,  and  reported  to  others  his 
great  courage  and  joyfulness  in  the 
midst  of  suffering,  then,  methinks,  a 
contagious  spirit  spread  amongst 
Catholics,  and  conversions  followed 
which  changed  despondency  into  re- 
joicing. But  I  will  not  here  set  down 
the  manner  of  his  trial,  nor  the  won- 
derful marks  of  patience  and  constan- 
cy which  he  showed  under  torments 
and  rackings,  nor  his  interview  with 
her  majesty  at  my  lord  Leicester's 
house,  nor  the  heroic  patience  of  his 
death ;  for  others  with  better  know- 
ledge thereof,  and  pens  more  able  for 
to  do  it,  have  written  this  martyr's  life 
and  glorious  end.  But  I  will  rather 
relate  such  events  as  took  place,  as  it 
were,  under  mine  own  eye,  and  which 
are  not,  I  ween,  so  extensively  known. 
And  first,  I  will  speak  of  a  conversa- 
tion I  held  at  that  time  with  a  person 
then  a  stranger,  and  therefore  of  no 
great  significancy  when  it  occurred, 
but  which  later  did  assume  a  sudden 
importance,  when  it  became  linked 
with  succeeding  events. 

One  day  that  I  was  visiting  at 
Lady  Ligoldsby's,  where  Polly  and 
her  husband  had  come  for  to  spend  a 
few  weeks,  and  much  company  was 
going  in  and  out,  the  faces  and  names 
of  which  were  new  to  me,  some  gen- 
tlemen came  there  whose  dress  at- 
tracted notice  from  the  French  fashion 
thereof.  One  of  them  was  a  young 
man  of  very  comely  appearance  and 
pleasant  manners,  albeit  critical  per- 
sons might  have  judged  somewhat 
of  the  bravado  belonged  to  his  atti- 
tudes and  speeches,  but  withal  tem- 
pered with  so  much  gentleness  and 
courtesy,  that  no  sooner  had  the  eye 
and  mind  taken  note  of  the  defect 
than  the  judgment  was  repented  of. 
What  in  one  of  less  attractive  face 
and  behavior  should  have  displeased, 
in  this  youth  did  not  offend.  It  was 
ray  hap  to  sit  beside  him  at  supper, 
which  lasted  a  long  time ;  and  as  his 


behavior  was  very  polite,  I  freely  con- 
versed with  him,  and  found  him  to  be 
English,  though  from  long  residence 
abroad  his  tongue  had  acquired  a 
foreign  trick.  AVhen  I  told  him  I 
had  thought  he  was  a  Frenchman,  he 
laughed,  and  said  if  the  French  did 
ever  try  to  land  in  England,  they 
should  find  him  to  be  a  very  English- 
man for  to  fight  against  tliem  ;  but  in 
the  matter  of  dinners  and  beds,  and  the 
liking  of  a  clear  sunny  sky  over  above 
a  dim  cloudy  one,  he  did  confess  him- 
self to  be  so  much  of  a  traitor  as  to 
prefer  France  to  England,  and  he 
could  not  abide  the  smoke  of  coal 
fires  which  are  used  in  this  country. 

"  And  what  say  you,  sir,"  I  answer- 
ed, "  to  the  new  form  of  smoke  which 
Sir  Walter  Kaleigh  hath  introduced 
since  his  return  from  the  late  discov- 
ered land  of  Virginia  ?" 

He  said  he  had  learnt  the  use  of  it 
in  France,  and  must  needs  confess  he 
found  it  to  be  very  pleasant.  Mon- 
sieur Nicot  had  brought  some  seeds  of 
tobacco  into  France,  and  so  much  lik- 
mg  did  her  majesty  Queen  Catharine 
conceive  for  this  practice  of  smoking, 
that  the  new  plant  went  by  the  name 
of  the  queen's  herb.  '■  It  is  not  gen- 
tlemen alone  who  do  use  a  pipe  in 
France,"  he  said,  "but  ladies  also. 
What  doth  the  fair  sex  in  England 
think  on  it  ?" 

"  I  have  heard,"  I  answered,  "  that 
her  majesty  herself  did  try  for  to 
smoke,  but  presently  gave  it  up,  for 
that  it  made  her  sick.  Her  highness 
is  also  reported  to  have  lost  a  wager 
concerning  that  same  smoking  of  to- 
bacco." 

"What  did  her  grace  bet?"  the 
gentleman  asked. 

"  Why,  she  was  one  day,"  I  replied, 
"inquiring  very  exactly  of  the  vari- 
ous virtues  of  this  herb,  and  Sir  Wai- 
ter did  assure  her  that  no  one  under- 
stood them  better  than  himself,  for  hs 
was  so  well  acquainted  with  all  its 
qualities,  that  he  could  even  tell  her 
majesty  the  weight  of  the  smoke  of 
every  pipeful  he  consumed.  Her 
highness   upon    this   said,  ^  Monsieur 


'30 


Constance  She 


Traveller,  jou  do  go  too  far  in  putting 
on  me  the  license  which  is  allowed  to 
such  as  return  from  foreign  parts  ;' 
and  she  laid  a  wager  of  many  pieces 
of  gold  he  should  not  be  able  to  prove 
his  words.  So  he  weighed  in  her 
presence  the  tobacco  before  he  put  it 
into  his  pipe,  and  the  ashes  after  he 
had  consumed  it,  and  convinced  her 
majesty  that  the  deficiency  did  pro- 
ceed from  the  evaporation  thereof. 
So  then  she  paid  the  bet,  and  merrily 
told  him  '  that  she  knew  of  many  per- 
sons who  had  turned  their  gold  into 
smoke,  but  he  was  the  first  who  had 
turned  smoke  into  gold.* " 

The  young  gentleman  being  amused 
at  this  story,  I  likewise  told  him  of 
Sir  Walter's  hap  when  he  first  return- 
ed to  England,  and  was  staying  in  a 
friend's  house  :  how  a  servant  coming 
into  his  chamber  with  a  tankard  of 
ale  and  nutmeg  toast,  and  seeing  him 
for  the  first  time  with  a  lighted  pipe  in 
his  mouth  puffing  forth  clouds  of 
smoke,  flung  the  ale  in  his  face  for  to 
extinguish  the  internal  conflagration, 
and  then  running  down  the  stairs 
alarmed  the  family  with  dismal  cries 
that  the  good  knight  was  on  fire,  and 
would  be  burnt  into  ashes  before  they 
could  come  to  his  aid. 

My  unknown  companion  laughed, 
and  said  he  had  once  on  his  travels 
been  taken  for  a  sorcerer,  so  readily 
doth  ignorance  imagine  wonders. 
"  Near  unto  Metz,  in  France,"  quoth 
be,  "  I  fell  among  thieves.  My  money 
I  had  quilted  within  my  doublet,  which 
they  took  from  me,  howsoever  leaving 
me  the  rest  of  my  apparel,  wherein 
I  do  acknowledge  their  courtesy,  since 
thieves  give  all  they  take  not;  but 
twenty-five  French  crowns,  for  the 
worst  event,  I  had  lapped  in  cloth, 
and  whereupon  did  wind  divers-col- 
ored threads,  wherein  I  sticked  nee- 
dles, as  if  I  had  been  so  good  a  hus- 
band as  to  mend  mine  own  clothes. 
Messieurs  the  thieves  were  not  so 
frugal  to  take  my  ball  to  mend  their 
hose,  but  did  tread  it  under  their  feet. 
I  picked  it  up  with  some  spark  of  joy, 
and  I  and  my  guide  (he  very  sad,  be- 


cause he  despaired  of  my  ability  to 
pay  him  his  hire)  went  forward  to 
Chalons,  where  he  brought  me  to  a 
poor  ale-house,  and  when  I  expostu- 
lated, he  replied  that  stately  inns  were 
not  for  men  w^ho  had  never  a  penny 
in  their  purses ;  but  I  told  him  that 
I  looked  for  comfort  in  that  case  more 
from  gentlemen  than  clowns  ;  where- 
upon he,  sighing,  obeyed  me,  and  with 
a  dejected  and  fearful  countenance 
brought  me  to  the  chief  inn,  where  he 
ceased  not  to  bewail  my  misery  as  if 
it  had  been  the  burning  of  Troy  ;  till 
the  host,  despairing  of  my  ability  to 
pay  him,  began  to  look  disdainfully  on 
me.  The  next  morning,  when,  he  be- 
ing to  return  home,  I  paid  him  his 
hire,  which  he  neither  asked  nor  ex- 
pected, and  likewise  mine  host  for 
lodgings  and  supper,  he  began  to  talk 
like  one  mad  for  joy,  and  professed  I 
could  not  have  had  one  penny  except 
I  were  an  alchemist  or  had  a  familiar 
spirit." 

I  thanked  the  young  gentleman  for 
this  entertaining  anecdote,  and  asked 
him  if  France  was  not  a  very  disquiet- 
ed country,  and  nothing  in  it  \sat  wars 
and  fighting. 

"  Yea,"  he  answered ;  "  but  men 
fight  there  so  merrily,  that  it  appears 
more  a  pastime  than  aught  else.  Not 
always  so,  howsoever.  AVlien  French- 
man meets  Frenchman  in  the  fair 
fields  of  Provence,  and  those  of  the 
League  and  those  of  the  Religion — God 
confound  the  first  and  bless  the  last ! 
— engage  in  battle,  such  encounters 
ensue  as  have  not  their  match  for 
fierceness  in  the  world.  By  my  troth, 
the  sight  of  dead  bodies  doih  not  ordi- 
narily move  me;  but  the  valley  of 
Allemagne  on  the  day  of  the  great 
Huguenot  victory  was  a  sight  the  like 
of  which  I  would  not  choose  to  look 
on  again,  an  I  could  help  it." 

"  Were  yon,  then,  present  at  that 
combat,  sir  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yea,"  he  replied ;  "  I  was  at  that 
time  with  Lcsdiguieres,  the  Protestant 
general,  whom  I  had  known  at  La 
Rochelle,  and  boshrew  me  if  a  more 
valiant  soldier  doth  live,  or  a  worthiei 


Constance  Sherwood. 


231 


soul  in  a  stalwart  frame.  I  was 
standing  by  bis  side  wlien  Tourves 
tbe  butcber  came  for  to  urge  bim,  witb 
liis  three  bundred  men,  to  ride  over 
tbe  field  and  slay  tbe  wounded  pa- 
pists. '  No,  sir,'  quotb  tbe  general,  ^  I 
figbt  men,  but  bunt  tbem  not  down.' 
The  dead  were  heaped  many  feet 
thick  on  the  plain,  and  the  horses 
of  tbe  Huguenots  waded  to  their 
haunches  in  blood.  Those  of  the  Re- 
ligion were  mad  at  the  death  of  the 
Baron  of  AUemagne,  tbe  general  of 
their  southern  churches,  brave  cas- 
tellanr,  who,  when  the  figbt  w^as  done, 
took  off  bis  helmet  for  to  cool  bis 
burning  forehead  ;  and  lo,  a  shot  sent 
bim  straight  into  eternity." 

"  The  Catholics  were  then  wholly 
routed  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yea,"  be  answered ;  "  mowed 
down  like  grass  in  tbe  bay-harvest. 
De  Vins,  however,  escaped.  He 
thought  to  liave  bad  a  cheap  victory 
over  those  of  tbe  Religion ;  but  tbe 
saints  in  heaven,  to  w^hom  be  trusted, 
never  told  bim  that  Lesdiguieres  ,on 
be  one  side  and  d' AUemagne  on  tbe 
o:her  were  hastening  to  tbe  rescue, 
nor  that  his  Italian  horsemen  should 
fail  him  in  bis  need.  So,  albeit  tbe 
papists  fought  like  devils,  as  they  are, 
bis  pride  got  a  fall,  which  well-nigb 
killed  bim.  He  was  riding  frantically 
back  into  tbe  fray  for  to  get  himself 
slain,  w'ben  St.  Cannat  seized  bis  bri- 
dle, and  called  bim  a  coward,  so  I 
have  beard,  to  dare  for  to  die  when 
his  scattered  troops  bad  need  of  bim  ; 
and  so  carried  bim  off  tbe  field. 
D'Oraison,  Jan  son,  Pontmez,  hotly 
pursued  them,  but  in  vain ;  and  all  the 
Protestant  leaders,except  Lesdiguieres, 
returned  that  night  to  tbe  castle  of 
AUemagne  for  to  bury  tbe  baron." 

A  sort  of  sbiver  passed  througb  the 
young  gentleman's  frame  as  be  uttered 
these  last  words. 

"  A  sad  burial  you  then  witnessed  ?" 
I  said, 

"  I  pray  God,"  he  answered,  "  nev- 
er to  witness  another  such." 

"  What  was  tbe  horror  of  it  ?"  I 
asked. 


"  Would  you  hear  it  ?"  be  inquired- 
*'  Yea,"  I  said,  "  most  willingly  ;  for 
methinks  I  see  what  you  describe." 

Then  be  :  "  If  it  be  so,  peradven- 
ture  you  may  not  thank  me  for  this 
describing ;  for  I  warrant  you  it  was 
a  fearful  sight.  I  bad  lost  mine  horse, 
and  so  was  forced  to  spend  tbe  night 
at  the  castle.  When  it  grew  dark  I 
followed  tbe  officers,  wdiicb,  with  a 
great  store  of  tbe  men,  also  descend- 
ed into  tbe  vault,  which  was  garnished 
all  round  witb  white  and  warlike  sculp- 
tured forms  on  tombstones,  most  grim 
in  their  aspect;  and  amidst  those 
stone  images,  grim  and  motionless, 
the  soldiers  ranged  themselves,  still 
covered  with  blood  and  dust,  and 
leaning  on  their  halberds.  In  the 
midst  was  the  uncovered  coffin  of  the 
baron,  his  livid  visage  exposed  to 
view — menacing  even  in  death. 
Torches  threw  a  fitful,  red-colored 
light  over  the  scene.  A  minister 
which  accompanied  the  army  stood 
and  preached  at  the  coffin's  bead,  and 
when  he  bad  ended  his  sermon,  sang 
in  a  loud  voice,  in  French  verse,  the 
psalm  which  doth  begin, 

'  Du  fond  de  ma  pensee, 
Dn  fond  de  tous  enuuis, 
A  toi  s'est  adresse 
Ma  clameur  jour  et  nuit.' 

When  this  singing  began  two  soldiers 
led  up  to  tbe  tomb  a  man  witb  bound 
hands  and  ghastly  pale  face,  and,  when 
tbe  verse  ended,  shot  him  through  the 
bead.  The  corpse  fell  upon  the 
ground,  and  the  singing  began  anew. 
Twelve  times  this  did  happen,  till  my 
head  waxed  giddy  and  I  became  faint. 
I  was  led  out  of  that  vault  with  the 
horrible  singing  pursuing  me,  as  if  I 
should  never  cease  to  bear  it." 

"  Oh,  'tis  fearful,"  I  exclaimed, 
"  that  men  can  do  such  deeds,  and  the 
while  have  God's  name  on  their  lips." 

"  The  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew," he  answered, "  hath  driven  those 
of  the  Religion  mad  against  the  pa- 
pists." 

"  But,  sir,"  I  asked,  "  is  it  not  true 
that  six  thousand  Catholics  in  Langue- 
doc  had  been  murthered  in  cold  blood, 


232 


Constancy  Sherwood. 


and  a  store  of  them  in  other  places, 
before  that  massacre  ?" 

"  May  be  so,"  he  answered  in  a 
careless  tone.  "The  shedding  of 
blood,  except  in  a  battle  or  lawful 
duel,  I  abhor ;  but  verilj  I  do  hate 
papists  with  as  great  a  hate  as  any 
Huguenot  in  France,  and  most  of  all 
those  in  this  country — a  set  of  knav- 
ish traitors,  which  would  dethrone  the 
queen  and  sell  the  realm  to  the 
Spaniards." 

I  could  not  but  sigh  at  these  words, 
for  in  this  young  man's  countenance  a 
quality  of  goodness  did  appear  which 
made  me  grieve  that  he  should  utter 
these  unkind  words  touching  Catho- 
lics. But  I  dared  not  for  to  utter  my 
thinking  or  disprove  his  accusations, 
ibr,  being  ignorant  of  his  name,  I  had 
a  reasonable  fear  of  being  ensnared 
into  some  talk  which  should  show  me 
to  be  a  papist,  and  he  should  prove  to 
be  a  spy.  But  patience  failed  me 
when,  after  speaking  of  the  clear  light 
of  the  gospel  which  England  enjoyed, 
and  to  lament  that  in  Ireland  none 
a?e  found  of  the  natives  to  have  cast 
off  the  Roman  religion,  he  said  : 

'•  I  ween  this  doth  not  proceed  from 
their  constancy  in  religion,  but  rather 
from  the  lenity  of  Protestants,  which 
think  that  the  conscience  must  not  be 
forced,  and  seek  rather  to  touch  and 
persuade  than  to  obhge  by  fire  and 
sword,  like  those  of  the  south,  who 
persecute  their  own  subjects  differing 
from  them  in  religion." 

"  Sir,"  I  exclaimed,  "  this  is  a 
strange  thing  indeed,  that  Protestants 
do  lay  a  claim  to  so  great  mildness  in 
their  dealings  with  recusants,  and  yet 
such  strenuous  laws  against  such  are 
framed  that  they  do  live  in  fear  of 
their  lives,  and  are  daily  fined  and 
tormented  for  their  profession." 

*•  How  so  ?"  he  said,  quickly.  "  No 
papist  hath  been  burnt  in  this  coun- 
try." 

"  No,  sir,"  I  answered ;  "  but  a 
store  of  them  have  been  hanged  and 
cut  to  pieces  whilst  yet  alive." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  cried,  "  not  for  their 
religion,  but  for  their  many  treasons." 


"  Sir,"  I  answered,  '•  their  ror.giori 
is  made  treason  by  unjust  laws,  and 
then  punished  with  the  penalties  of 
treason  :  and  they  die  for  no  other 
cause  than  their  faith,  by  the  same 
token  that  each  of  those  which  have 
perished  .on  the  scaffold  had  his  lite 
offered  to  him  if  so  he  would  turn 
Protestant." 

In  the  heat  of  this  argument  I  had 
forgot  prudence  ;  and  some  unkindly 
ears  and  eyes  were  attending  to  my 
speech,  which  this  young  stranger 
perceiving,  he  changed  the  subject  of 
discourse — I  ween  with  a  charitable 
intent — and  merrily  exclaimed,  "  Now 
I  have  this  day  transgressed  a  wise 
resolve." 

"  What  resolve  ?"  I  said,  glad  also 
to  retreat  from  dangerous  subjects. 

"This,"  he  answered:  "that  after 
my  return  I  would  sparingly,  and  not 
without  entreaty,  relate  my  journeys 
and  observations." 

''Then,  sir,"  I  rephed,  "methinks 
you  have  contrariwise  observed  it,  for 
yodir  observations  have  been  short  and 
pithy,  and   withal  uttered  at  mine  en 
treaty." 

"Nothing,"  he  paid,  "I  so  much  fear 
as  to  resemble  men — and  many  such 
I  have  myself  known — v/ho  have 
scarce  seen  the  lions  of  the  Tower  and 
the  bears  of  Parish  Garden,  but  they 
must  engross  all  a  table  in  talking  of 
their  adventures,  as  if  they  had  passed 
the  Pillars  of  Hercules.  Nothing 
could  be  asked  which  they  could  not 
resolve  of  their  own  knowledge." 

"  Find  you,  sir,"  I  said,  "  much  va- 
riety in  the  manners  of  French  people 
and  those  you  see  in  this  country  ?" 

He  smiled,  and  answered,  "  We 
must  not  be  too  nice  observers  of  men 
and  manners,  and  too  easily  praise 
foreign  customs  and  despise  our  o^vn 
— not  so  much  that  we  may  not  offend 
others,  as  that  we  may  not  be  our- 
selves offended  by  others.  I  will  yield 
you  an  example.  A  Frenchman,  be- 
ing a  curious  observer  of  ceremonious 
compliments,  when  he  hath  saluted 
one,  and  begun  to  entertain  him  with 
fpccch,  if  Lc  chance  to  espy  another 


Constanse  Sherwood, 


233 


man,  with  whom  he  hath  very  great 
business,  yet  will  he  not  leave  the  first 
man  without  a  solemn  excuse.  But 
an  Englishman  discourshig  with  any 
man — I  mean  in  a  house  or  chamber 
of  presence,  not  merely  in  the  street — 
if*  he  spy  another  man  with  whom  he 
hath  occasion  to  speak,  will  suddenly, 
without  any  excuse,  turn  from  the  first 
man  and  go  and  converse  with  the 
other,  and  with  like  negligence  will 
leave  and  take  new  men  for  discourse ; 
which  a  Frenchman  would  take  in  ill 
part,  as  an  argument  of  disrespect. 
This  fashion,  and  many  other  like 
niceties  and  curiosities  in  use  in  one 
country,  we  must  forget  when  we  do 
pass  into  another.  For  lack  of  this 
prudence  I  have  seen  men  on  their  re- 
turn home  tied  to  these  foreign  man- 
ners themselves,  and  finding  that  oth- 
ers obsene  not  the  Hke  toward  them, 
take  everything  for  an  injury,  as  if 
they  were  disrespected,  and  so  are 
often  enraged." 

"  What  think  you  of  the  dress  our 
ladies  do  wear  ?"  I  inquired  of  this 
young  traveller. 

He  smiled,  and  answered : 

"  I  like  our  young  gentlewomen's 
gowns,  and  their  aprons  of  fine  linen, 
and  their  little  hats  of  beaver;  but 
why  have  they  left  wearing  the  French 
sleeves,  borne  out  with  hoops  of  whale- 
bone, and  the  French  hood  of  velvet, 
set  with  a  border  of  gold  buttons  and 
pearls  ?  Methinks  English  ladies  are 
too  fond  of  jewels  and  diamond  rings. 
They  scorn  plain  gold  rings,  I  find, 
and  chains  of  gold." 

"  Yea,"  I  said,  "  ladies  of  rank  wear 
only  rich  chains  of  pearl,  and  all  their 
jewels  must  needs  be  oriental  and 
precious.  If  any  one  doth  choose  to 
use  a  simple  chain  or  a  plain-set 
brooch,  she  is  marked  for  wearing  old- 
fashioned  gear." 

"  This  remindeth  me,"  he  said,  "  of 
a  pleasant  fable,  that  Jupiter  sent  a 
shower,  v/herein  whosoever  was  wet 
became  a  fool,  and  that  all  the  people 
were  wet  in  this  shower,  excepting 
one  philosopher,  who  kept  his  study ; 
but  in  the  evening  coming  forth  into 


the  market-place,  and  finding  that  all 
the  people  marked  liim  as  a  fool,  who 
was  only  wise,  he  was  forced  to  pray 
for  another  shower,  that  he  might  be- 
come a  fool,  and  so  live  quietly  among 
fools  rather  than  bear  the  envy  of  his 
wisdom." 

"With  this  pleasant  story  our  con- 
versation ended,  for  supper  was  over, 
and  the  young  gentleman  soon  went 
away.  I  asked  of  many  persons  who 
he  should  be,  but  none  could  tell  me. 
Polly,  the  next  day,  said  he  was  a 
youth  lately  returned  from  France 
(which  was  only  what  I  knew  before), 
and  that  Sir  Nicholas  Throckmorton 
had  written  a  letter  to  Lady  Ingoldsby 
concerning  him,  but  his  name  she  had 
forgot.  O  what  strange  haps,  more 
strange  than  any  m  books,  do  at  times 
form  the  thread  of  a  true  history ! 
what  presentiments  in  some  cases, 
what  ignorance  in  others,  beset  us 
toucliing  coming  events ! 

The  next  pages  will  show  the  ground 
of  these  reflections. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

One  day  that  Mrs.  "Wells  was  some- 
what disordered,  and  keeping  her 
room,  and  I  was  sitting  with  her,  her 
husband  came  to  fetch  me  into  the 
parlor  to  an  old  acquaintance,  he 
said,  who  was  very  desirous  for  to  see 
me.  "Who  is  it?"  I  asked;  but  he 
would  not  tell  me,  only  smiled;  my 
foolish  thinking  supposed  for  one  in- 
stant that  it  might  be  Basil  he  spoke 
of,  but  the  first  glance  showed  me  a 
shght  figure  and  pale  countenance, 
very  different  to  his  whom  my  witless 
hopes  had  expected  for  to  see,  albeit 
without  the  least  shadow  of  reason.  I 
stood  looking  at  this  stranger  in  a 
hesitating  manner,  who  perceiving  I 
did  not  know  him,  held  out  his  hand, 
and  said, 

"  Has  Mistress  Constance  forgotten 
her  old  playfellow  ?" 

"  Edmund  Genings  !"  I  exclaimed, 
suddenly  guessing  it  to  be  him. 


=34 


Constance  Sherwood* 


"  Yea,"  he  said,  "  your  old  friend 
Edmund," 

"  Mr.  Ironmonger  is  this  reverend 
jZentleman's  name  now-a-days,"  Mr. 
W  ells  said ;  and  then  we  all  three  sat 
down,  and  by  degrees  in  Edmund's 
present  face  I  discerned  the  one  I  re- 
membered in  former  years.  The  same 
kind  and  reflective  aspect,  the  pallid 
Ime,  the  upward-raised  eye,  now  with 
less  of  searching  in  its  gaze,  but  more, 
I  ween,  of  yearning  for  an  unearthly 
home. 

"  0  dear  and  reverend  sir,"  I  said, 
'•  strange  it  doth  seem  indeed  thus  to 
address  you,  but  God  knoweth  I  thank 
him  ibr  the  honor  he  hath  done  my 
old  playmate  in  the  calling  of  him  un- 
to his  service  in  these  perilous  times." 

"  Yea,"  he  answered,  with  emotion, 
•'  I  do  owe  him  much,  which  life  itself 
should  not  be  sufficient  to  repay." 

"  My  good  father,"  I  said,  "  some 
time  before  his  death  gave  me  a  token 
in  a  letter  that  ycu  were  in  England. 
Wliere  have  you  been  all  this  time  ?" 

'•  Tell  us  the  manner  of  your  landing," 
quoth  Mr.  Wells ;  "  for  this  is  the 
great  ordeal  which,  once  overpassed, 
lets  you  into  the  vineyard,  for  to  work 
for  one  hour  only  sometimes,  or  else 
to  bear  many  years  the  noontide  heat 
and  nipping  frosts  which  laborers  like 
unto  yourself  have  to  endure." 

«  Well,"  said  Edmund,  "  ten  months 
ago  we  took  shipping  at  Honfleur,  and, 
wind  and  weather  being  propitious, 
sailed  along  the  coast  of  England, 
meaning  to  have  landed  in  Essex; 
but  for  our  sakes  the  master  of  the 
bark  lingered,  when  we  came  in  sight 
of  land,  until  two  hours  within  night, 
and  being  come  near  unto  Scar- 
borough, what  should  happen  but 
that  a  boat  with  pirates  or  rovers  in 
it  comes  out  to  surprise  us,  and  shoots 
at  us  divers  times  with  muskets !  But 
we  came  by  no  harm  ;  for  the  wind 
being  then  contrary,  the  master  turned 
his  ship  and  sailed  back  into  the  main 
sea,  where  in  very  foul  weather  we  re- 
mained three  days,  and  verily  I 
thought  to  have  then  died  of  sea-sick- 
nc&s ;  which  ailment  should  teach  a 


man  humility,  if  anything  in  this 
world  can  do  it,  stripping  him  as  it 
does  of  all  boastfulness  of  his  own 
courage  and  strength,  so  that  he  would 
cry  mercy  if  any  should  offer  only  to 
move  him." 

"  Ah !"  cried  Mr.  Wells,  laughing, 
"  Topcliffe  should  bethhik  himself  of 
this  new  torment  for  papists,  for  to 
leave  a  man  in  this  plight  until  he  ac- 
knowledged the  queen's  supremacy 
should  be  an  artful  device  of  the 
devil" 

"  At  last,"  quoth  Mr.  Genings,  "  we 
landed,  with  great  peril  to  our  lives, 
on  the  side  of  a  high  cliff  near  Whitby, 
in  Yorkshire,  and  reached  that  town 
in  the  evening.  Going  into  an  inn 
to  refresh  ourselves,  which  I  promise 
you  we  sorely  needed,  who  should  we 
meet  with  there  but  one  Radcliff  ?" 

"  Ah !  a  noted  pursuivant,"  cried 
Mr.  Wells,  '•  albeit  not  so  topping  a 
one  as  his  chief." 

«  Ah !"  I  cried,  «  good  Mr.  Wells, 
that  is  but  a  poor  pun,  I  promise  you. 
A  better  one  you  must  frame  before 
night,  or  you  will  lose  your  reputa- 
tion. The  queen's  last  effort  hath 
more  merit  in  it  than  yours,  who,  when 
she  was  angry  with  her  envoy  to 
Spain,  said,  '  If  her  royal  brother  had 
sent  her  a  goose-man,*  she  had  sent 
him  in  return  a  man-goose.' " 

Mr.  Genings  smiled,  and  said: 

"  Well,  this  same  Radcliff  took  an 
exact  sur^'cy  of  us  all,  questioned  us 
about  our  arrival  in  that  place,  whence 
we  came,  and  whither  we  were  going. 
We  told  him  we  were  driven  thither 
by  the  tempest,  and  at  last,  by  evasive 
answers,  satisfied  him.  Then  we  all 
went  to  tlie  house  of  a  Catholic  gentle- 
man in  the  neighborhood,  which  was 
within  two  or  three  miles  of  Whitby, 
and  by  him  were  directed  some  to  one 
place,  some  to  another,  according  to 
our  own  desires.  Mr.  Plasden  and  I 
kept  together ;  but,  for  fear  of  suspi- 
cion, we  determined  at  last  to  separate 
also,  and  singly  to  commit  ourselves 
to  the  protection  of  God  and  his  good 
angels.     Soon  after  we  had  tluis  re- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


235 


solved,  we  came  to  two  fair  beaten 
ways,  the  one  leading  north-east,  the 
other  south-east,  and  even  then  and 
there,  it  being  in  the  night,  we  stopped 
and  both  fell  down  on  our  knees  and 
made  a  short  prayer  together  that  God 
of  his  intinite  mercy  would  vouchsafe 
to  direct  us,  and  send  us  both  a  peace- 
able passage  into  the  thickest  of  liis 
vineyard." 

Here  Mr.  Genings  paused,  a  little 
moved  by  the  remembrance  of  that 
parting,  but  in  a  few  minutes  ex- 
claimed : 

"  I  have  not  seen  that  dear  friend 
since,  rising  from  our  knees,  we  em- 
braced each  other  with  tears  trickling 
down  our  cheeks ;  but  the  words  he 
said  to  me  then  T  shall  never,  me- 
thinks,  forget.  'Seeing,'  quoth  he, 
'we  must  now  part  through  fear  of 
our  enemies,  and  for  greater  security, 
farewell,  sweet  brother  in  Christ  and 
most  loving  companion.  God  grant 
that,  as  we  have  been  friends  in  one 
college  and  companions  in  one  weari- 
some and  dangerous  journey,  so  we 
may  have  one  merry  meeting  once 
again  in  tliis  world,  to  our  great  com- 
fort, if  it  shall  please  him,  even 
amongst  our  greatest  adversaries  ;  and 
that  as  we  undertake,  for  his  love  and 
holy  name's  sake,  this  course  of  life 
together,  so  he  will  of  his  infinite 
goodness  and  clemency  make  us  par- 
takers of  one  hope,  one  sentence,  one 
death,  and  one  reward.  And  also  as 
we  began,  so  may  we  end  together  in 
Christ  Jesus.'  So  he  ;  and  then  not 
being  able  to  speak  one  word  more 
for  grief  and  tears,  we  departed  in  mu- 
tual silence  ;  he  directing  his  journey 
to  London,  where  he  was  born,  and  I 
northward." 

"Then  you  have  not  been  into  Staf- 
fordsliire  ?"  I  said. 

"  Yea,"  he  answered, "  later  I  went 
to  Lichfield,  in  order  to  try  if  I  should 
peradventure  find  there  any  of  mine 
old  iViends  and  kinsfolks." 

"  And  did  you  succeed  therein  ?"  I 
inquired. 

"  The  only  friends  I  found,"  he  an- 
swered,   with    a    melancholy    smile, 


"  were  the  gray  cloisters,  the  old  ca- 
thedral walls,  the  trees  of  the  close; 
the  only  famihar  voices  which  did 
greet  me  were  the  chimes  of  the  tow- 
er, the  cawing  of  the  rooks  over  mine 
head  as  I  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  tall 
elms  near  unto  the  wall  where  our 
garden  once  stood." 

"Oh,  doth  that  house  and  that  gar 
den  no  more  exist  ?"  I  cried. 

"  No,  it  hath  been  pulled  down,  and 
the  lawn  thereof  thrown  into  the 
close." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  the  poor  bees  and 
butterflies  must  needs  fare  badly.  The 
bold  rooks,  I  ween,  are  too  exalted  to 
suffer  from  these  changes.  Of  Sher 
wood  Hall  did  you  Lear  aught,  Mr. 
Genings  ?" 

"  Mr.  Ironmonger,"  Mr.  Wells  said, 
correcting  me. 

"  Alas !"  Edmund  replied,  "  I  dared 
not  so  much  as  to  approach  unto  it,  al- 
beit I  passed  along  the  high  road  not 
very  far  from  the  gate  thereof.  But 
the  present  inhabitants  are  famed  for 
their  hatred  unto  recusants,  and  like 
to  deal  rigorously  with  any  which 
should  come  in  their  way." 

I  sighed,  and  then  asked  him  how 
long  he  had  been  in  London. 

"  About  one  month,"  he  replied. 
"  As  I  have  told  you.  Mistress  Con- 
stance, all  my  kinsfolk  that  I  wot  of 
are  now  dead,  except  my  young  broth- 
er John,  whom  I  doubt  not  you  yet  do 
bear  in  mind — that  fair,  winsome,  mis- 
chievous urchin,  who  was  carried  to 
La  Rochelle  about  one  year  before 
your  sweet  mother  died." 

"  Yea,"  I  said,  "  I  can  see  him  yet 
gallopping  on  a  stick  round  the  parlor 
at  Lichfield." 

"  'Tis  to  look  for  him,"  Edmund 
said,  "I  am  come  to  London.  Albeit 
I  fear  much  inquiry  on  my  part  touch- 
ing this  youth  should  breed  suspicion, 
I  cannot  refrain,  brotherly  love  solic- 
iting me  thereunto,  from  seeking  him 
whom  report  saith  careth  but  little  for 
his  soul,  and  who  hath  no  other  rela- 
tive in  the  world  than  myself.  I 
have  warrant  for  to  suppose  he  should 
be  in  London ;  but  these  four  weeks. 


2^6 


Constance  Sherwood. ' 


with  useless  diligence,  I  have  made 
search  ibr  him,  leaving  no  place  un- 
sought where  I  could  suspect  him  to 
abide  ;  and  as  I  see  no  hopes  of  suc- 
cess, I  am  resolved  to  leave  the  city 
for  a  season." 

Then  Mr.  "Wells  proposed  to  carry 
Edmund  to  Kate's  house,  where  some 
friends  were  awaiting  him;  and  for 
some  days  I  saw  him  not  again.  But 
on  the  next  Sunday  evening  he  came 
to  our  house,  and  I  noticed  a  paleness 
in  him  I  had  not  before  perceived.  I 
asked  him  if  anything  had  disordered 
him. 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered ;  "  only 
methinks  my  old  shaking  malady  doth 
again  threaten  me ;  for  this  morning, 
walking  forth  of  mine  inn  to  visit  a 
friend  on  the  other  side  of  the  city, 
and  passing  by  St.  Paul's  church, 
when  I  was  on  the  east  side  thereof,  I 
felt  suddenly  a  strange  sensation  in 
my  body,  so  much  that  my  face  glow- 
ed, and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  mine 
hair  stood  on  end  ;  all  my  joints  trem- 
bled, and  my  whole  body  was  bathed 
in  a  cold  sw*eat.  I  feared  some  evil 
was  threatening  me,  or  danger  of  be- 
ing taken  up,  and  I  looked  back  to 
see  if  I  could  perceive  any  one  lo 
be  pursuing  me;  but  I  saw  nobody 
near,  only  a  youth  in  a  brown-colored 
cloak ;  and  so,  concluding  that  some 
aifection  of  my  head  or  liver  had  seiz- 
ed me,  T  thought  no  more  on  it,  but 
went  forward  to  ray  intended  place  to 
say  mass." 

A  strange  thinking  came  into  mine 
head  at  that  moment,  and  I  doubted  if 
I  should  impart  to  him  my  sudden 
fancy. 

"  Mr.  Edmund,"  I  said,  unable  to 

refrain  myself,  "  suppose  that  youth  in 

the   brown  cloak  should   have    been 

your  brother !" 

■  Pie  started,  but  shaking  of  his  head 

aid: 

•'  Nay,  nay,  why  should  it  have  been 
.lim  rather  than  a  thousand  others  I 
do  see  every  day  ?" 

'•  Might  not  that  strange  effect  in 
yourself  betoken  the  presence  of  a 
kinsman  ?" 


"  Tut,  tut,  Mistress  Constance,"  he 
cried,  half  kindly,  half  reprovingly; 
"  this  should  be  a  wild  fancy  lacking 
ground  in  reason." 

Thus  checked,  T  held  my  peace,  but 
could  not  wholly  discard  this  thought. 
Not  long  after — on  the  very  morning 
before  Mr.  Genings  proposed  to  de- 
part out  of  town — I  chanced  to  be 
walking  homeward  with  him  and  some 
others  from  a  house  whither  we  had 
gone  to  hear  his  mass.  As  we  were 
returning  along  Ludgate  Hill,  what 
should  he  feel  but  the  same  sensations 
he  had  done  before,  and  which  were 
indeed  visible  in  him,  for  his  limbs 
trembled  and  his  face  turned  as  white 
as  ashes ! 

"  You  are  sick,"  I  said,  for  I  was 
walking  alongside  of  him. 

"  Only  affected  as  that  other  day," 
he  answered,  leaning  against  a  post 
for  to  recover  himself. 

I  had  hastily  looked  back,  and,  lo 
and  behold !  a  youth  in  a  brown  cloak 
was  w^alking  some  paces  behind  us. 
I  whispered  in  Mr.  Genings's  ear : 

"  Look,  Edmund  ;  is  this  the  youth 
you  saw  before  ?" 

"  O  my  good  Lord !"  he  cried,  turn- 
ing yet  more  pale,  "  this  is  strange  in- 
deed !  After  all,  it  may  be  my  broth- 
er. Go  on,"  he  said  quickly  ;  '•'  1 
must  get  speech  with  him  alone  to  dis- 
cover if  it  should  be  so." 

We  all  walked  on,  and  he  tarried 
behind.  Looking  back,  I  saw  him 
accost  the  stranger  in  the  brown  cloak. 
And  in  the  afternoon  he  came  to  tell 
us  that  this  was  verily  John  Genings, 
as  I  had  with  so  little  show  of  reason 
guessed. 

"  What  passed  between  you  ?"  I 
asked. 

He  said : 

"I  courteously  saluted  the  young 
man,  and  inquired  what  countryman 
he  was  ;  and  hearing  that  he  was  a 
Staffcrdshireraan,  I  began  to  conceive 
hopes  it  should  be  my  brother ;  so  I 
civilly  demanded  his  name.  Methought 
I  should  have  betrayed  myself  at  once 
when  he  answered  Genings  ;  but  as 
quietly  as  I  could,  I  told  him  I   was 


Constance  Sherwood. 


237 


his  kinsman,  and  was  called  Iron- 
mon;>er,  and  asked  him  what  had  be- 
come of*  his  brother  Edmund.  He 
then,  not  suspecting  aught,  told  me  he 
had  heard  that  he  was  gone  to  Rome 
to  the  Pope,  and  was  become  a  notable 
papist  and  a  traitor  both  to  God  and 
his  country,  and  that  if  he  did  return 
he  should  infallibly  be  hanged.  I 
smiled,  and  told  him  I  knew  his  bro- 
ther, and  that  he  was  an  honest  man, 
and  loved  both  the  queen  and  his 
country,  and  God  above  all.  ^But 
tell  me,'  I  added,  ^  good  cousin  John, 
should  you  not  know  him  if  you  saw 
liim?*  He  then  looked  hard  at  me, 
and  led  the  way  into  a  tavern  not  far 
off,  and  when  we  were  seated  at  a 
table,  with  no  one  nigh  enough  to 
overhear  us,  he  said :  *  I  gi'eatly  fear 
I  have  a  brother  that  is  a  priest,  and 
that  you  are  the  man,'  and  then  began 
to  swear  that  if  it  was  so,  I  should  dis- 
credit myself  and  all  my  friends,  and 
protested  that  in  this  he  would  never 
follow  me ;  albeit  in  other  matters  he 
might  respect  me.  I  promise  you 
hat  whilst  these  harsh  words  passed 
is  lips  I  longed  to  throw  my  arms 
round  his  neck.  I  saw  my  mother's 
face  in  his,  and  his  once  childish  love- 
liness only  changed  into  manly  beauty. 
His  young  years  and  mine  rose  before 
me,  and  I  could  have  wept  over  this 
]iew-found  brother  as  Joseph  over  his 
dear  Benjamin.  I  could  no  longer 
conceal  myself,  but  told  him  truly  I 
was  .his  brother  indeed,  and  for  hia 
love  had  taken  great  pains  to  seek 
him,  and  begged  of  him  to  keep  secret 
the  knowledge  of  my  arrival ;  to  which 
he  answered :  '  He  would  not  for  the 
world  disclose  my  return,  but  that  he 
desired  me  to  come  no  more  unto  him, 
for  that  he  feared  greatly  the  danger 
of  the  law,  and  to  incur  the  penalty  of 
the  statute  for  concealing  of  it.'  I  saw 
his  was  no  place  or  time  convenient 
.0  talk  of  religion  ;  but  we  had  much 
conversation  about  divers  tilings,  by 
which  I  perceived  him  to  be  far  from 
any  good  affection  toward  Catholic 
religion,  and  persistent  in  Protestant- 
ism, without  any  hope  of  a  present  re- 


covery. Therefore  I  declared  unto 
him  my  intended  departure  out  of 
town,  and  took  my  leave,  assuring  him 
that  within  a  month  or  h'ttle  more  I 
should  return  and  see  him  again,  and 
confer  with  him  more  at  large  touching 
some  necessary  affairs  which  concerned 
him  very  much.  I  inquired  of  him 
where  a  letter  should  find  him.  He 
showed  some  reluctance  for  to  give  me 
any  address,  but  at  last  said  if  one  was 
left  for  him  at  Lady  Ingoldsby's,  in 
Queen  street,  Holborn,  he  should  bo 
like  to  get  it." 

After  Mr.  Genings  had  left,  I  con- 
sidered of  this  direction  his  brother 
had  given  him,  which  showed  him  tc 
be  acquainted  with  Polly's  mother-in- 
law,  and  then  remembering  the  young 
gentleman  I  had  met  at  her  house,  I 
suspected  him  to  be  no  other  than 
John  Genings.  And  called  back  to 
mind  all  his  speeches  for  to  compare, 
them  with  this  suspicion,  wherem  they 
did  all  tally;  and  some  days  after- 
ward, when  I  was  walking  on  the  Mall 
with  Sir  Ralph  and  Polly,  who  should 
accost  them  but  this  youth,  which 
they  presently  introduced  to  me,  and 
Polly  added,  she  believed  we  had 
played  at  hide-and-seek  together  when 
we  were  young.  He  looked  somewhat 
surprised,  and  as  if  casting  about  for 
to  call  to  mind  old  recollections ;  then 
spoke  of  our  meeting  at  Lady  In- 
goldsby's ;  and  she  cried  out, 

"  Oh,  then,  you  do  know  one  an- 
other ?" 

"  By  sight,"  I  said,  *'  not  by  name." 

Some  other  company  joining  us,  he 
came  alongside  of  me,  and  began  for 
to  pay  me  compliments  in  the  French 
manner. 

"  Mr.  John  Genings,"  I  said,  "  do 
you  remember  Lichfield  and  the  close, 
and  a  little  girl,  Constance  Sherwood, 
who  used  to  play  with  you,  before  you 
w^it  to  La  Rochelle  ?" 

"Like  in  a  dream,"  he  answered, 
his  comely  face  lightingup  with  a  smile. 

"  But  your  brother,"  I  said,  "  was 
my  chiefest  companion  then  ;  for  at 
that  age  we  do  always  aspire  to  the 
notice  of  such  as  be  older  than  conde- 


238 


Constance  Sherwood. 


scend  to  such  as  be  younger  than  our- 
selves." 

When  I  named  his  brother  a  cloud 
darkened  his  face,  and  he  abruptly 
turned  away.  He  talked  to  Polly 
and  some  other  ladies  in  a  gay,  jesting 
manner,  but  I  could  see  that  ever  and 
anon  he  glanced  toward  me,  as  if  to 
scan  my  features,  and,  I  ween,  com- 
pare them  with  what  memory  depicted ; 
but  he  kept  aloof  from  me,  as  if  fear- 
ing I  should  speak  again  of  one  he 
would  fain  forget. 

On  the  7th  of  November,  Edmund 
returned  to  London,  and  came  in  the 
evening  to  Kate's  house.  He  had 
been  laboring  in  the  country,  exhort- 
ing, instructing,  and  exercising  his 
priestly  functions  amongst  Cathohcs 
with  all  diligence.  It  so  happened 
that  his  friend,  Mr.  Plasden,  a  very 
virtuous  priest,  which  had  landed  with 
him  at  Whitby,  and  parted  with  him 
soon  afterward,  was  there  also  ;  and 
several  other  persons  likewise  which 
did  usually  meet  at  Mr.  Wells's 
house  ;  but,  owing  to  that  gentleman's 
absence,  who  had  gone  into  the  coun- 
try for  some  business,  and  his  wife's 
indisposition,  had  agreed  for  to  spend 
the  evening  at  Mr.  Lacy's.  Before 
the  company  there  assembled  parted, 
the  two  priests  treated  with  him  where 
they  should  say  mass  the  following 
day,  which  was  the  Octave  of  All  Saints. 
They  agreed  to  say  their  matins  to- 
gether, and,  by  Bryan's  advice,  to  cele- 
brate it  at  tlie  house  of  Mr.  Wells, 
notwithstanding  his  absence  ;  for  that 
Mistress  Wells,  who  could  not  con- 
veniently go  abroad,  would  be  exceed- 
ing glad  for  to  hear  mass  in  her  own 
lodging.  1  told  Edmund  of  my  meet- 
ing with  his  brother  on  the  Mall,  and 
the  long  talk  ministered  between  us 
some  weeks  ago,  when  neither  did 
know  the  other's  name.  Methought 
in  his  countenance  and  conversation 
that  night  there  appeared  an  unwonted 
consolation,  a  sober  joy,  which  filled 
me  almost  with  awe.  When  he  wish- 
ed me  good-night,  he  added,  "  I  pray 
you,  my  dear  child,  to  lift  up  your 
soul  to  heaven  ere  you  sleep  and  when 


you  wake,  and  recommend  to  heaven 
our  good  purpose,  and  then  come  and 
attend  at  the  holy  sacrifice  with  the 
crowd  of  angels  and  saints  which  do 
always  assist  thereat."  When  the 
light  faintly  dawned  in  the  dull  sky, 
Muriel  and  I  stole  from  our  beds, 
quietly  dressed  ourselves,  and  slipping 
out  unseen,  repaired  as  fast  as  we 
could,  for  the  ground  was  wet  and 
slippery,  to  Mr.  Wells's  house.  We 
found  assembled  in  one  room  Mr, 
Genings,  Mr.  Plasden,  another  priest, 
Mr.  White,  Mr.  Lacy,  Mistress  Wells, 
Sydney  Hodgson,  Mr.  Mason,  and 
many  others.  Edmund  Genings  pro- 
ceeded to  say  mass.  There  was  so 
great  a  stillness  in  the  room  a  pin 
should  have  been  heard  to  drop.  Albeit 
he  said  the  prayers  in  a  very  low 
voice,  each  word  was  audible.  Mine 
ears,  which  are  very  quick,  were 
stretched  to  the  utmost.  Each  sound 
in  the  street  caused  me  an  inward 
flutter.  Methought,  when  he  was 
reading  the  gospel,  I  discerned  a 
sound  as  of  the  hall-door  opening,  and 
of  steps.  Then  nothing  more  for  a 
little  while ;  but  just  at  the  moment 
of  the  consecration  there  was  a 
loud  rush  up  the  stairs,  and  the 
door  of  the  chamber  burst  open.  The 
gentlemen  present  rose  from  their 
knees.  Mistress  Wells  and  I  contrari- 
wise sunk  on  the  ground.  I  dared  not 
for  to  look,  or  move,  or  breathe,  but 
kept  inwardly  calling  on  God,  then 
present,  for  to  save  us.  I  heard  the 
words  behind  me : "  Topcliffe  !  keep  him 
back  !"  "  Hurl  him  down  the  stairs !" 
and  then  a  sound  of  scuffling,  falling, 
and  rolling,  followed  by  a  moment's 
silence. 

The  while  the  mass  went  forward, 
ever  and  anon  noises  rose  without ; 
but  the  gentlemen  held  the  door  shut 
by  main  force  all  the  time.  They  kept 
the  foe  at  bay,  these  brave  men,  each 
word  uttered  at  the  altar  resounding, 
I  ween,  in  their  breasts.  O  my  God. 
what  a  store  of  suffering  was  heaped 
into  a  brief  space  of  time  !  AVTiat  a 
viaticum  was  that  communion  then  re- 
ceived by  thy  doomed  priest !  "  Domi- 


Constance  Sherwood, 


239 


ne,  non  sum  dtgnvs"  he  thrice  said, 
and  then  his  Lord  rested  in  his  soul. 
"  Deo  gratias  /"  None  could  now 
profane  the  sacred  mysteries  ;  none 
could  snatch  his  Lord  from  him.  "  Ite 
missa  est."  The  mass  was  said,  the 
hour  come,  death  at  hand.  All  re- 
sistance then  ceased.  I  saw  Topcliffe 
hastening  in  with  a  broken  head,  and 
threatening  to  raise  the  whole  street. 
Mr.  Plasden  told  him  that,  now  the 
mass  was  ended,  we  would  all  yield 
ourselves  prisoners,  which  we  did ; 
upon  which  he  took  Mr.  Genings  as  he 
was,  in  his  vestments,  and  all  of  us, 
men  and  women,  in  coaches  he  called 
for,  to  Newgate.  Muriel  and  I  kept 
close  together,  and, with  Mistress  Wells, 
were  thrust  into  one  cell.  Methmks 
we  should  all  have  borne  with  cour- 
age this  misfortune  but  for  the  think- 
ing of  those  without — Muriel  of  her 
aged  and  infirm  father ;  Mistress 
Wells  of  her  husband's  return  that 
day  to  his  sacked  house,  robbed  of  all 
its  church  furniture,  books,  and  her 
the  partner  of  his  whole  life.  And  I 
thought  of  Basil,  and  what  he  should 
feel  if  he  knew  of  me  in  this  fearful 
Newgate,  near  to  so  many  thieves  and 
^vicked  persons ;  and  a  trembling 
came  over  me  lest  I  should  be  parted 
from  my  companions.  I  had  much  to 
do  to  recall  the  courageous  spirit  I 
had  heretofore  nurtured  in  foreseeing 
such  a  hap  as  this.  If  I  had  had  to 
die  at  once,  I  think  I  should  have 
been  more  brave;  but  terrible  fore- 
bodings of  examinations — perchance 
tortures,  long  solitary  hours  in  a  loath- 
some place — caused  me  inward  shud- 
derings ;  and  albeit  I  said  with  my 
lips  over  and  over  again,  "  Thy  will 
be  done,  my  God,"  I  passionately 
prayed  this  chalice  might  pass  from 
me  which  often  before  in  my  presump- 
tion— I  cry  mercy  for  it — I  had  al- 
most desired  to  drink.  Oh,  often 
have  I  thought  since  of  what  is  said 
in  David's  Psalms,  "  It  is  good  for  me 
that  thou  hast  humbled  me."  From 
my  young  years  a  hot  glowing  feeling 
had  inflamed  my  breast  at  the  men- 
tion of  suffering  for  conscience'  sake, 


and  the  words  "  to  die"  had  been  very 
familiar  ones  to  my  lips  ;  "  rather  to 
die,"  "gladly  to  die,"  "proudly  to 
die;"  alas,  Iiow  often  had  I  uttered 
them!  O  my  God,  when  the  foul 
smells,  the  faint  light  of  that  dreadful 
place,  struck  on  my  senses,  I  waxed 
very  weak.  The  coarse  looks  of  the 
jailers,  the  disgusting  food  set  before^ 
us,  the  filthy  pallets,  awoke  in  me  a 
loathing  I  could  not  repress.  And 
then  a  fear  also,  which  the  sense  of  my 
former  presumption  did  awaken. 
"Let  he  that  thinketh  he  standeth 
take  heed  lest  he  fall,"  kept  nmning  in 
mine  head.  I  had  said,  like  St.  Peter, 
that  I  was  ready  for  to  go.  to  prison 
and  to  death  ;  and  now,  peradventure, 
I  should  betray  my  Lord  if  too  great 
pain  overtook  me.  Muriel  saw  me 
wringing  mine  hands ;  and,  sitting 
down  by  my  side  on  the  rude  mattress, 
she  tried  for  to  comfort  me.  Then,  in 
that  hour  of  bitter  anguish,  I  learnt 
that  creature's  full  worth.  Who 
should  have  thought,  who  did  not  then 
hear  her,  what  stores  of  superhuman 
strength,  of  heavenly  knowledge,  of 
divine  comfort,  should  have  flowed 
from  her  lips  ?  Then  I  perceived  the 
value  of  a  wholly  detached  heart,  sur- 
rendered to  God  alone.  Young  as 
she  was,  her  soul  was  as  calm  in  this 
trial  as  that  of  the  aged  resigned 
woman  which  shared  it  with  us.  Mine 
was  tempest-tossed  for  a  while.  I 
could  but  lie  mine  head  on  Muriel's 
knee  and  murmur,  '*  Basil,  O  Basil !" 
or  else,  "  If,  after  all,  I  should  prove 
an  apostate,  which  hath  so  despised 
others  for  it !" 

"  'Tis  good  to  fear,"  she  whispered. 
"  but  withal  to  trust.  Is  it  not  writ- 
ten, mine  own  Constance, '  My  strength 
is  sufficient  for  thee  ?'  and  who  saith 
this  but  the  Author  of  all  strength — 
he  on  whom  the  whole  world  doth 
rest  ?  He  permitteth  this  fear  in  thee 
for  humility's  sake,  which  lesson  thou 
hast  need  to  learn.  When  that  of 
courage  is  needed,  be  not  affrighted ; 
he  will  give  it  thee.  He  bestoweth 
not  graces  before  they  be  needed." 

Then  she  minded  me  of  little   St. 


240 


Constance  Sherwood* 


Agnes,  and  related  passages  of  her 
life ;  but  raostlj  spoke  of  the  cross 
and  the  passion  of  Christ,  in  such 
piercing  and  moving  tones,  as  if  visi- 
bly beholding  the  scene  on  Calvary, 
that  the  storm  seemed  to  subside  in 
my  breast  as  she  went  on. 

''  Pray,"  she  gently  said,  "that,  if  it 
be  God's  will,  the  extremity  of  human 
.suffering  should  fall  on  thee,  so  that  thy 
love  for  him  should  increase.  Pray  that 
no  human  joy  may  visit  thee  again,  so 
that  heaven  may  open  its  gates  to  thee 
and  thy  loved  ones.  Pray  for  Hu- 
bert, for  the  queen,  for  Topcliffe,  for 
every  human  soul  which  thou  hast 
ever  been  tempted  to  hate;  and  I 
promise  thee  that  a  great  peace  shall 
steal  over  thy  soul,  and  a  great  strength 
shall  lift  thee  up." 

I  did  what  she  desired,  and  her  words 
were  prophetic.  Peace  came  before 
long,  and  joy  too,  of  a  strange  unearth- 
ly sort.  A  brief  foretaste  of  heaven 
was  showed  forth  in  the  consolations 
then  jiourcd  into  mine  heart.  When 
since  I  have  desired  for  to  rekindle  fer- 
vor and  awaken  devotion,  I  recall  the 
hours  which  followed  that  great  anguish 
J!^.  the  cell  at  Newgate. 

Late  in  the  evening  an  order  came  for 
to  release  Muriel  and  me,  but  not  Mrs. 
Wells.  When  this  dear  friend  under- 
stood what  had  occurred,  she  raised  her 
1  lands  in  fervent  gratitude  to  God,  and 
dismissed  us  with  many  blessings. 

The  events  which  followed  I  will 
briefly  relate.  When  we  reached 
home  Mr.  Congleton  was  very  sick ; 
and  then  began  the  illness  which  end- 
(^d  his  life.  Kate  was  almost  wild  with 
grief  at  her  husband's  danger,  and  we 
fetched  her  and  her  children  to  her 
iather's  house  for  to  watch  over  them. 
On  the  next  day  all  the  prisoners 
v>hich  had  been  taken  at  Mr.  Wells's 
house  (we  only  having  been  released 
l)y  the  dealings  of  friends  with  the 
chief  secretary)  were  examined  by 
Justice  Young,  and  returned  to  prison 
to  take  their  trials  the  next  session. 
ISli.  Wells,  at  his  return  finding  his 
house  ransacked  and  his  wife  carried 
away  to  prison,  had  been  fortliwith  to 


Mr.  Justice  Young  for  to  expostulate 
with  him,  and  to  demand  his  wife  and 
the  key  of  his  lodgings  ;  but  the  justice 
sent  him  to  bear  the  rest  company, 
with  a  pair  of  iron  bolts  on  his  legs. 
The  next  day  he  examined  him  in 
Newgate;  and  upon  Mr.  Wells  say- 
ing he  was  not  privy  to  the  mass  be- 
ing said  that  day  in  his  house,  but  wish- 
ed he  had  been  present,  thinking  his 
name  highly  honored  by  having  so 
divine  a  sacrifice  offered  in  it,  the  jus- 
tice told  him  "  that  though  he  was  not 
at  the  feast,  he  should  taste  of  the 
same." 

The  evening  I  returned  home  from 
the  prison  a  great  lassitude  overcame 
me,  and  for  a  few  days  increased  so 
much,  joined  with  pains  in  the  head 
and  in  the  limbs,  that  I  could  scarcely 
think,  or  so  much  as  stand.  At  last 
it  was  discerned  that  I  was  sickening 
with  the  small-pox,  caught,  methinks, 
in  the  prison ;  and  this  was  no  small 
increase  to  Muriel's  trouble,  who  had 
to  go  to  and  fro  from  my  chamber  to 
her  father's,  and  was  forced  to  send 
Kate  and  her  children  to  the  country 
to  Sir  Ralph  Ingoldsby's  house;  but 
methinks  in  the  end  this  proved  for 
the  best,  for  when  Mr.  Lacy  was, 
with  the  other  prisoners,  found  guilty, 
and  condemned  to  death  on  the  4th  of 
December,  some  for  having  said,  and 
the  others  for  having  heard,  mass  at 
Mr.  Wells's  house,  Kate  came  to  Lon- 
don but  for  0  few  hours,  to  take  leave 
of  him,  and  Polly's  care  of  her  after- 
Avard  cheered  the  one  sister  in  her 
great  but  not  very  lasting  afhiction, 
and  sobered  the  other's  spirits  in  a 
beneficial  manner,  for  since  she  hath 
been  a  stayer  at  home,  and  very  care- 
ful of  her  children  and  Kate's  also, 
and,  albeit  very  secretly,  doth  I  hear 
practise  her  religion.  Mr.  Congleton 
never  heard  of  his  son-in-law  and  his 
friend  Mr.  Wells's  danger,  the  palsy 
which  affected  him  having  numbed 
his  senses  so  that  he  slowly  sunk  in 
his  grave  without  suffering  of  body  or 
mind.  From  Muriel  I  heard  the 
course  of  the  trial.  How  many  bitter 
words  and  scoffs   were  used   by  the 


Constance  Sherwood. 


241 


judges  and  others' upon  the  bench,  par- 
ticularly to  Edmund  Gcniags,  because 
of  his  youth,  and  that  he  angered  tliem 
with  his  arguments  !  The  more  to 
make  him  a  scoiF  to  the  people,  they 
vested  him  in  a  ridiculous  tboFs  coat 
which  tliey  had  found  in  Mr.  Wells's 
house,  and  would  have  it  to  be  a  vest- 
ment. It  was  appointed  they  should 
all  die  at  Tyburn,  except  Mr.  Genings 
and  Mr.  Wells,  who  were  to  bo  exe- 
cuted before  Mr.  Wells's  own  door  in 
Gray's  Inn  Fields,  v/ithin  three  doors  of 
our  own  lodging.  The  judges,  we 
were  told,  after  pronouncing  sentence, 
began  to  persuade  them  to  conform  to 
the  Protestent  religion,  assuring  them 
that  by  so  doing  they  should  obtain 
mercy,  but  otherwise  they  must  cer- 
tainly expect  to  die.  But  they  all  an- 
swered "  that  they  would  live  and  die 
in  the  true  Roman  and  Catholic  faith, 
which  they  and  all  antiquity  had  ever 
professed,  and  that  they  would  by  no 
means  go  to  the  Protestant  churches, 
or  for  one  moment  think  that  the 
[ueen  could  be  head  of  the  Church  in 
pirituals."  They  dealt  most  urgently 
with  Edmund  Genings  in  this  matter 
of  conformity,  giving  him  hopes  not 
only  of  his  life,  but  also  of  a  good  liv- 
ing, it  he  would  renounce  his  faith  ; 
but  he  remained,  God  be  praised,  con- 
stant and  resolute ;  upon  which  he 
was  thrust  into  a  dark  hole  within  the 
prison,  where  he  remained  in  prayer, 
without  food  or  sustenance,  till  the 
hour  of  his  death.  Some  letters  we 
received  from  him  and  Mr.  Wells, 
which  have  become  revered  treasures 
and  almost  relics  in  our  eyes.  One 
did  write  (this  was  Edmund)  :  "  The 
comforts  which  captivity  bringeth  are 
so  manifold  that  I  have  rather  cause 
to  thank  God  highly  for  his  fatherly 
dealings  with  me  than  to  complain  of 
any  worldly  misery  whatsoever.  Cus- 
tom hath  caused  that  it  is  no  grief  to 
me  to  be  debarred  from  company,  de- 
siring nothing  more  than  solitude. 
When  I  pray,  I  talk  with  God — when 
I  read,  he  talketh  with  me  ;  so  that  I 
am  never  alone."  And  much  more  in 
that  strain.     Mr.  Wells  ended  his  let- 


ter thus:  "I  am  bound  with  gyves, 
yet  I  am  unbound  toward  God,  and 
far  better  I  account  it  to  have  the  body 
bound  than  the  soul  to  be  in  bondage. 
I  am  threatened  hard  with  danger  of- 
death  ;  but  if  it  be  no  worse,  I  will  not 
wisii  it  to  be  better.  God  send  me 
his  grace,  and  then  I  weigh  not  what 
flesh  and  blood  can  do  unto  me.  I 
have  answered  to  many  curious  and 
dangerous  questions,  but  I  trust  witli 
good  advisements,  not  offending  my 
conscience.  What  will  come  of  it 
God  only  knoweth.  Through  prison 
and  chains  to  glory.  Thine  till 
death."  This  letter  was  addressed 
to  Basil,  with  a  desire  expressed 
we  should  read  it  before  it  was  sent 
to  him. 

On  the  day  before  the  one  of  the 
execution,  Kate  came  to  take  leave  of 
her  husband.  She  could  not  speak 
for  her  tears  ;  but  he,  with  his  usual 
composure,  bade  her  be  of  good  com- 
fort, and  that  death  was  no  more  to 
him  than  to  drink  off  the  caudle  which 
stood  there  ready  on  his  table.  And 
methinks  this  indifferency  was  a  joint 
effect  of  nature  and  of  grace,  for  none 
had  ever  seen  him  hurried  or  agitated 
in  his  life  with  any  matter  whatsoever. 
And  when  he  rolled  Topcliffe  down 
the  stairs  and  fell  wiih  him — for  it 
was  he  which  did  this  desperate  action 
— ^liis  face  was  as  composed  when  he 
rose  up  again,  one  of  the  servants 
who  had  seen  the  scuffle  said,  as  if  he 
had  never  so  much  as  stirred  from  his 
study ;  and  in  his  last  speeches  before 
his  death  it  was  noticed  that  his  utter- 
ance was  as  slow  and  deliberate,  and 
his  words  as  carefully  picked,  as  at  any 
other  time  of  his  life.  Ah  me  !  what 
days  were  those  when,  hardly  re- 
covered from  ray  sickness,  only 
enough  for  to  sit  up  in  an  armed-chair 
and  be  carried  from  one  chamber  to 
another,  all  the  talk  ministered  about 
me  was  of  the  danger  and  coming 
death  of  these  dear  friends.  I  had  a 
trouble  of  mine  own,  which  I  be  trul\ 
ashamed  to  speak  of;  but  in  this  nar- 
rative I  have  resolved  above  all  things  ■ 
to  be  truthful :  and  if  I  have  ever  had^ 


242 


Constance  Sherwood, 


occasion,  on  the  one  hand,  to  relate 
what  should  seem  to  be  to  mine  own 
credit,  on  the  other  also  I  desire  to  ac- 
knowledge my  weaknesses  and  imper- 
leciions,  of  which  what  I  am  about  to 
relate  is  a  notable  instance.  The 
small-pox  made  me  at  that  time  the 
most  deformed  person  that  could  be 
seen,  even  after  I  was  recovered; 
and  the  first  time  I  beheld  my  face  in 
a  glass,  the  horror  which  it  gave  me 
was  so  great  that  I  resolved  Basil 
should  never  be  the  husband  of  one 
whom  every  person  which  saw  her 
must  needs  be  affrighted  to  look  on; 
but,  forecasting  he  would  never  give 
me  up  for  this  reason,  howsoever  his 
inclination  should  rebel  against  the 
kindness  of  his  heart  and  his  true  af- 
I'ection  for  me,  I  hastily  sent  him  a 
.  letter,  in  which  I  said  I  could  give 
him  no  cause  for  the  change  which 
had  happened  in  me,  but  that  I  w^as 
resolved  not  to  marry  him,  acting  in 
my  old  hasty  manner,  without  thought 
or  prudence.  No  sooner  had  I  done 
so  than  I  grew  very  uneasy  thereat, 
too  late  reflecting  on  what  his  suspi- 
cions should  be  of  my  inconstancy, 
,  and  ^Yhat  should  to  him  appear  faith- 
less breach  of  promise. 

It  grieved  me,  in  the  midst  of  such 
grave  events  and  noble  sufferings,  to 
be  so  concerned  for  mine  own  trouble ; 
and  on  the  day  before  the  execution  I 
was  sitting  musing  painfully  on  the 
tra""edy  which  was  to  be  enacted  at 
our  own  doors  as  it  were,  weeping  for 
the  dear  friends  which  were  to  suffer, 
and  ever  and  anon  chewing  the  cud  of 
my  wilful  undoing  of  mine  own,  and 
it  might  prove  of  Basil's,  future  peace 
by  my  rash  letter  to  him,  and  yet 
more  rash  concealment  of  my  motives. 
Whilst  I  was  thus  plunged  in  grief 
,  and  uneasiness,  the  door  of  my  cham- 
I  ber  of  a  sudden  opened,  and  the  ser- 
■  vant  announced  Mr.  Hubert  Rook- 
-  wood.  1  hid  my  face  hastily  with  a 
veil,  which  I  now  did  generally  use, 
except  when  alone  with  Muriel.  He 
came  in,  and  methought  a  change  had 
happened  in  his  appearaace.  He 
looked  somewhat  wild  and  disordered, 


and  his  face  flushed  as  one  used  to 
drinking. 

"  Constance,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"  tidings  have  reached  me  which 
would  not  suffer  me  to  put  off  this 
visit.  A  man  coming  from  France 
hath  brought  me  a  letter  from  Basil, 
and  one  directed  to  you,  which  he 
charged  me  to  deliver  into  your  hands. 
If  it  tallies  with  that  which  he  doth 
write  to  me — and  I  doubt  not  it  must 
be  so,  for  his  dealings  are  always  open 
and  honorable,  albeit  often  rash — I 
must  needs  hope  for  so  much  happi- 
ness from  it  as  I  can  scarce  credit 
to  be  possible  after  so  much  suffer- 
ing. 

I  stretched  out  mine  hand  for  Ba- 
sil's letter.  Oh,  how  the  tears  gushed 
from  mine  eyes  on  the  reading  of  it ! 
He  had  received  mine,  and  having 
heard  some  time  before  from  a  friend 
he  did  not  name  of  his  brother's  pas- 
sion for  me,  he  never  misdoubted  but 
that  I  had  at  last  yielded  to  his  solici- 
tations, and  given  him  the  love  which 
I  withvlrew  from  him. 

Never  was  the  nobleness  of  his  na- 
ture more  evinced  than  in  this  letter ; 
never  grief  more  heartfelt,  combined 
with  a  more  patient  endurance  of  the 
overthrow  of  his  sole  earthly  happi- 
ness;  never  a  greater  or  more  forgiv- 
ing kindness  toward  a  faithless  crea- 
ture, as  he  deemed  her,  with  a  linger 
ing  care  for  her  weal,  whom  he  must 
needs  have  thought  so  ill  deserving  of 
his  love.  So  much  sorrow  without  re- 
pining, such  strict  charges  not  to  marry 
Hubert  if  he  was  not  a  good  Catholic 
and  truly  reconciled  to  the  Church. 
But  if  he  was  indeed  changed  in  this 
respect,  an  assent  given  to  this  mar- 
riage which  had  cost  him,  he  said, 
many  tears  and  many  prayers  for  to 
write,  more  than  if  with  his  own 
heart's  blood  he  had  traced  the  word^ ; 
but  which,  nevertheless,  he  freely 
gave,  and  prayed  God  to  bless  u-^ 
both,  if  with  a  good  conscience  we 
could  be  wedded  ;  and  God  forbid  h? 
should  hinder  it,  if  I  had  ceased  for  to 
love  him,  and  had  given  to  Hubert — 
who  had  already  got  his  birthright — 


Constance  Sherwood. 


243 


also   i\  more    precious  treasure,   the 
heart  once  his  own. 

*' What  doth  your  brother  write  to 
you  ?"  I  coldly  said  ;  and  then  Hubert 
gave  me  his  letter  to  read. 

Methinks  he  imagined  I  concealed 
my  face  from  some  sort  of  shame  ;  and 
God  knoweth,  had  I  acted  the  part  he 
supposed,  I  might  well  have  blushed 
deeper  than  can  be  thought  of. 

This  letter  was  like  unto  the  other — 
the  most  touching  proof  of  love  a 
man  could  give  for  a  woman.  For- 
getting himself,  my  dearest  Basil's 
only  care  was  my  happiness  ;  and  firm 
remonstrances  were  blended  with 
touching  injunctions  to  his  brother  to 
treasure  every  hair  of  the  head  of  one 
who  was  dearer  to  him  than  all  the 
world  beside,  and  to  do  his  duty  to 
God  and  to  her,  which  if  he  observed, 
he  should,  mindless  of  all  else,  for  ever 
bless  him. 

When  I  returned  the  missive  to 
him,  Hubert  said,  in  a  faltering  voice, 
"  Now  you  are  free — free  to  be  mine 
— free  before  God  and  man." 

"  Yea,"  I  answered ;  "  free  as  the 
dead,  for  I  am  henceforward  dead  to 
all  earthly  tilings." 

''  What !"  he  cried,  startled  ;  "your 
thinking  is  not,  God  shield  it,  to  be  a 
nun  abroad  ?" 

"  Nay,"  I  answered ;  and  then, 
laying  my«hand  on  Basil's  letter,  I  said, 
"  If  I  had  thought  to  marry  you,  Hu- 
bert ;  if  at  this  hour  I  should  say  I 
could  love  you,  I  ween  you  yrould  leave 
the  house  affrighted,  and  never  return 
to  it  again." 

"  Is  your  brain  turned  ?"  he  impa- 
tiently cried. 

"  No,"  I  answered  quietly,  lifting  my 
veil,  "  my  face  only  is  changed." 

I  had  a  sort  of  bitter  pleasure  in 
the  sight  of  his  surprise.  He  turned 
as  pale  as  any  smock. 

"  Oh,  fear  not,"  I  said,  "  my  heart 
hath  not  changed  with  my  face.  I 
am  not  in  so  merry  a  mood,  God 
knoweth,  as  to  torment  you  with  any 
sucli  apprehensions.  My  love  for  Ba- 
eil  is  the  same;  yea,  rather  at  .this 
hour,  after  these  noble  proofs  of  his 


love,  more  great  than  ever.  Now  you 
can  discern  why  I  should  write  to  him 
I  would  never  marry  him." 

Hiding  his  face  in  his  hands,  Hu- 
bert said,  "  Would  I  had  not  come  here 
to  embitter  your  pain  ?" 

"  You  have  not  added  to  my  sorrow," 
I  answered;  "the  chalice  is  indeed 
full,  but  these  letters  have  rather  lights 
ened  than  increased  my  sufferings." 

Then  concealing  again  my  face,  I 
went  on,  '•  O  Hubert,  will  you  come 
here  to-morrow  morning  ?  Know  you 
the  sight  which  from  that  window  shall 
be  seen  ?  Hark  to  that  noise !  Look 
out,  I  pray  you,  and  tell  me  what  it  is." 

He  did  as  I  bade  him,  and  I  mark- 
ed the  shudder  he  gave.  His  face, 
pale  before,  had  now  turned  of  an 
ashy  hue. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  he  said ;  "  a  scaf- 
fold in  front  of  that  house  where  we 
were  wont  to  meet  those  old  friends  ! 
O  Constance,  are  they  there  to  die  ? 
— that  brave  joyous  old  man,  that  kind 
pious  soul  his  wife  ?" 

"  Yea,'.'  I  answered ;  ^'  and  likewise 
the  friend  of  my  young  years,  good 
holy  Edmund  Genings,  who  never  did 
hurt  a  fly,  much  less  a  human  crea- 
ture. And  at  Tyburn,  Bryan  Lacy, 
my  cousin,  once  your  friend,  and  Syd- 
ney Hodgson,  and  good  Mr.  Mason, 
are  to  suffer." 

Hubert  clenched  his  hands,  ground 
his  teeth,  and  a  terrible  look  shot 
through  his  eyes.  I  felt  affrighted  at 
the  passion  my  words  had  awakened. 

"  Cursed,"  he  cried,  in  a  hoarse 
voice, — "  cursed  be  the  bloody  queen 
which  reigneth  in  this  land  !  Tlirice 
accursed  be  the  tyrants  which  hunt  us 
to  death!  Tenfold  accursed  such  as 
lure  us  to  damnation  by  the  foul  baits 
they  do  offer  to  tempt  a  man  to  lie  to 
God  and  to  others,  to  ruin  those  he 
loves,  to  become  loathsome  to  himself 
by  his  mean  crimes  !  But  if  one  hath 
been  cheated  of  his  soul,  robbed  of  the 
hope  of  heaven,  debarred  from  his  re- 
ligion, thrust  into  the  company  of 
devils,  let  them  fear  him,  yea,  let 
them  fear  him,  I  say.  Revenge  is  not 
impossible.       What    shall    stay    the 


244 


Constance  Shervjood. 


hand  of  such  a  man  ?  What  shall 
guard  those  impious  tempters  if 
many  such  should  one  day  league 
for  to  sweep  them  from  earth's 
face  ?  If  one  be  desperate  of  this 
world's  life,  he  becomes  terrible. 
How  should  he  be  to  be  dreaded 
who  hath  despair  of  heaven !" 

With  these  wild  words  he  left 
me.  He  was  gone  ere  I  could 
speak. 

CIIArTEK    XXYI. 

On  the  night  before  the  10th  of 
December,  neither  Muriel  nor  I  re- 
tired to  rest.  We  sat  together  by  the 
rush-light,  at  one  time  saying  pray- 
ers, at  another  speaking  together 
in  a  low  voice.  Ever  and  anon  she 
Avent  to  listen  at  her  father's  door, 
for  to  make  sure  he  slept,  and  then 
returned  to  me.  The  hours  seemed 
to  pass  slowly ;  and  yet  we  should 
have  wished  to  stay  their  course, 
so  much  we  dreaded  the  first  rays 
of  light  presaging  the  tragedy  of 
the  coming  day.  Before  the  first 
token  of  it  did  show,  at  about  five 
in  the  morning,  the  door-bell  rung 
in  a  gentle  manner. 

*'  Who  can  be  ringing  ?  "  1  said 
to  Muriel. 

"  I  will  go  and  see,"  she  answer- 
ed. 

But  I  restrained  her,  and  went  to 
call  one  of  the  servants,  who  w^ere 
beginning  to  bestir  themselves. 
The  man  went  down,  and  returned, 
bringing  me  a  paper,  on  which  these 
words  were  written  : 

"My  Dear  Constance:  My 
lord  and  myself  have  secretly  come 
to  join  our  prayers  with  yours, 
and,  if  it  should  be  possible,  to  re- 
ceive the  blessing  of  the  holy  priest 
who  is  about  to  die,  as  he  j)asses 
by  your  house,  toward  which,  I 
doubt  not,  his  eyes  will  of  a  surety 


turn.     I  pray  you,  therefore,  admit 
us." 

I  hurried  down  the  stairs,  and 
found  Lord  and  Lady  Arundel 
standing  in  the  hall ;  she  in  a 
cloak  and  hood,  and  he  with  a 
slouching  hat  hiding  his  face. 
Leading  them  both  into  the  parlor, 
which  looketh  on  the  street,  I  had 
a  fire  hastily  kindled,  and  for  a 
space  her  ladyship  and  myself 
could  only  sit  holding  each  other's 
hands,  our  hearts  being  too  full  to 
speak.  After  a  while  I  asked  her 
when  she  had  come  to  London.  She 
said  she  had  done  so  very  secretly, 
not  to  increase  the  queen's  dis- 
pleasure against  her  husband  ;  her 
majesty's  misliking  of  herself  con- 
tinuing as  great  as  ever. 

"  When  she  visited  my  lord  last 
year,  before  his  arrest,"  quoth  she, 
"  on  a  pane  of  glass  in  the  dining- 
room  her  grace  perceived  a  dis- 
tich, writ  by  me  in  bygone  days 
with  a  diamond,  and  which  express- 
ed hopes  of  better  fortunes." 

"  I  mind  it  well,"  I  replied.  ^'  Did 
it  not  run  thus  ? 


■  Not  seldom  doth  the  sun  sink  down  in  bright- 
est light 

Which  rose  at  early  dawn  disfigured  quite  out- 
right T 

So  shall  my  fgrtunes,  wrapt  so  long  in  darkest 
night, 

Kevive,  and  show  ere  long  an  aspect  clear  and 
bright.'  " 


"  Yea,"  she  answered.  "  And 
now  listen  to  what  her  majesty, 
callinoj  for  a  like  instrument,  wrote 
beneath : 


'Not  seldom  do  vain  hopes  deceive  a  silly 
heart ; 

Let  all  such  witless  dreams  now  vanish  and  de- 
part; 

For  fortune  shall  ne'er  shine,  I  promise  thee,  on 
one 

Whose  folly  hath  for  aye  all  hopes  thereof  un- 
done." 


We  live,"  she  added,  "with  a  sword 


Constance  Sherwood, 


24: 


hanging  over  our  heads ;  and  it  is 
meet  we  should  come  here  this  day  to 
learn  a  lesson  how  to  die  when  a  like 
fate  shall  overtake  us.  But  thou  hast 
been  hke  to  die  by  another  means,  my 
good  Constance,"  her  ladyship  said, 
looking  with  kindness  but  no  astonish- 
ment on  my  swollen  and  disfigured 
face,  which  I  had  not  remembered  to 
conceal ;  grave  thoughts,  then  upper- 
most, having  caused  me  to  forget  it. 

"  My  life,"  I  answered,  "  God  hath 
mercifully  spared ;  but  I  have  lost  the 
semblance  of  my  former  self." 

"  Tut,  tut !"  she  replied,  "  only  for  a 
time." 

And  then  we  both  drev/  near  unto 
the  fire,  for  we  were  shivering  with 
cold.  Lord  Arundel  leant  against  the 
chimney,  and  watched  the  timepiece. 

"  Mistress  Wells,"  he  said,  "  is  like, 
I  hear,  to  be  reprieved  at  the  last  mo- 
ment." 

"  Alas  !"  I  cried,  "  nature  therein 
finds  relief;  yet  I  know  not  how  much 
to  rejoice  or  yet  to  grieve  thereat. 
For  surely  she  will  desire  to  die  with 
her  husband.  And  of  what  good  will 
life  be  to  her  if,  like  some  others,  she 
doth  linger  for  years  in  prison  ?" 

"  Of  much  good,  if  God  wills  her 
there  to  spend  those  years,"  Muriel 
gently  said ;  wiiich  words,  I  ween,  were 
called  to  mind  long  afterward  by  one 
who  then  heard  them. 

As  the  hour  appointed  for  the  exe- 
cution approached,  w^e  became  silent 
again,  and  kneehng  down  betook  our- 
selves to  prayer.  At  eight  o'clock  a 
croAvd  began  to  assemble  in  the  street; 
and  the  sound  of  their  feet  as  they 
passed  under  the  windov*^,  hurrying  to- 
ward the  scaffold,  which  was  hung 
with  black  cloth,  became  audible. 
About  an  hour  afterward  notice  was 
given  to  us  by  one  of  the  servants  that 
the  sledge  which  carried  the  -prisoners 
was  in  sight.  We  rose  from  our 
knees  and  went  to  the  window.  Mr. 
Wells's  stout  form  and  Mr.  Genings's 
slight  figure  were  then  discernible,  as 
they  sat  bound,  with  their  hands  tied 
behind  their  backs.  I  observed  that 
Mr.  Wells  smiled  and  nodded  to  some 


one  who  was  standing  amidst  the 
crowd.  This  person,  who  was  a  friend 
of  his,  hath  since  told  me  that  as  he 
passed  he  saluted  him  with  these 
words  :  "  Farewell,  dear  companion  ! 
farewell,  all  hunting  and  hawking  and 
old  pastimes  !  I  am  now  going  a  better 
way."  Mistress  Wells  not  being  witli 
them,  we  perceived  that  to  be  true 
which  Lord  Arundel  had  heard.  At 
that  moment  I  turned  round,  and  miss- 
ed Muriel,  who  had  been  standing 
close  behind  me.*  I  supposed  she 
could  not  endure  this  sight ;  but,  lo 
and  behold,  looking  again  into  the 
street,  I  saw  her  threading  her  way 
amongst  the  crowd  as  swiftly,  lame 
though  she  was,  as  if  an  angel  had 
guided  her.  When  she  reached  the 
foot  of  the  scaffold,  and  took  her  stand 
there,  her  aspect  was  so  composed,  se- 
rene, and  resolved,  that  she  seemed 
like  an  inhabitant  of  another  world 
suddenly  descended  amidst, the  coarse 
and  brutal  mob.  She  was  resolved,  I 
afterward  found,  to  take  note  of  every 
act,  gesture,  and  word  there  spoken  ; 
and  by  her  means  I  can  here  set  down 
what  mine  ov/n  ears  heard  not,  but 
much  of  which  mine  own  eyes 
beheld.  As  the  sledge  passed 
our  door,  Mr.  Genings,  as  Lady 
Arundel  had  foreseen,  turned  liis 
head  toward  us ;  and  seeing  me  at 
the  window,  gave  us,  I  doubt  not,  his 
blessing ;  for,  albeit  he  could  not  raise 
his  chained  hand,  we  saw  his  fingers 
and  his  lips  move.  On  reaching  the 
gibbet  Muriel  heard  him  cry  out  with 
holy  Andrew,  "  O  good  gibbet,  long 
desired  and  now  prepared  forme,  much 
hath  my  heart  desired  thee  ;  and  now", 
joyful  and  secure,  I  come  to  thee.  Re- 
ceive me,  I.  beseech  thee,  as  the  disci 
pie  of  him  that  suffered  on  the  cross !" 
Being  put  upon  the  ladder,  many  ques- 
tions were  asked  him  by  some  standers- 
by,  to  which  he  made  clear  and  dis- 
tinct answers.  Then  Mr.  Topcliffe 
cried  out  with  a  loud  voice, 

'•  Genings,  Genings,  confess  thy 
fault,  thy  papist  treason ;  and  the 
queen,  no  doubt,  will  grant  thee  par- 
don !" 


246 


Constance  Sherwood. 


To  which  he  mildly  answered,  "  I 
know  not,  Mr.  Topcliffe,  in  what  I  have 
offended  my  dear  anointed  princess; 
if  I  have  offended  her  or  any  other  per- 
son in  anything,  I  would  willingly  ask 
her  and  all  the  world  forgiveness.  If 
she  be  offended  with  me  without  a 
cause,  for  2:>rofessing  my  faith  and  re- 
ligion, or  because  I  am  a  priest,  or  be- 
cause I  will  not  turn  minister  against 
my  conscience,  I  shall  be,  I  trust,  ex- 
cused and  innocent  before  God.  '  We 
must  obey  God,' '  saith  St.  Peter, 
'  rather  than  men ;'  and  I  must  not  in 
this  case  acknowledge  a  fault  where 
there  is  none.  If  to  return  to  England 
a  priest,  or  to  say  mass,  is  popish 
treason,  I  here  do  confess  I  am  a  trai- 
tor. But  I  think  not  so ;  and  there- 
fore I  acknowledge  myself  guilty  of 
these  things  not  with  repentance  and 
sorrow  of  heart,  but  with  an  open  pro- 
testation of  inward  joy  that  I  have 
done  so  good  deeds,  which,  if  tliey 
were  to  do  again,  I  would,  by  the  per- 
mission and  assistance  of  God,  accom- 
plish the  same,  though  with  the  hazard 
of  a  thousand  lives." 

Mr.  Topcliffe  was  very  angry  at 
this  speech,  and  hardly  gave  him  time 
to  say  an  "  Our  Father"  before  he  or- 
dered the  hangman  to  turn  the  ladder. 
From  that  moment  I  could  not  so  much 
as  once  again  look  toward  the  scaffold. 
Lady  Arundel  and  I  drew  back  into 
the  room,  and  clasping  each  other's 
hands,  kept  repeating,  "  Lord,  help 
him  !  Lord,  assist  him !  Have  mercy 
on  him,  O  Lord !"  and  the  like 
prayers. 

We  heard  Lord  Arundel  exclaim, 
"  Good  God !  the  wretch  doth  order 
the  rope  to  be  cut !"  Then  avoiding 
the  sight,  he  also  drew  back  and  silent- 
ly prayed.  What  follow etli  I  learnt 
from  Muriel,  who  never  losther  senses, 
though  she  endured,  methinks,  at  that 
scaffold's  foot  as  much  as  any  sufferer 
upon  it.  Scarcely  or  not  at  all 
stunned,  Mr.  Genings  stood  on  his 
feet  with  his  eyes  raised  to  heaven, 
till  the  hangman  threw  him  down  on 
the  block  where  he  was  to  be  quarter- 
ed.    After  he  was  dismembered,  she 


heard  him  utter  with  a  loud  voice, 
"  Oh,  it  smarts !"  and  Mr.  Wells  ex- 
claim, "  Alas  !  sweet  soul,  thy  pain  is 
great  indeed,  but  almost  past.  Pray 
for  me  now  that  mine  may  come." 
Then  when  his  heart  was  being  pluck- 
ed out,  a  faint  dying  whisper  reached 
her  ear,  "  Sancte  Gregori,  ora  pro 
me  !"  and  then  the  voice  of  the  hang- 
man crying,  "  See,  his  heart  is  in  mine 
hand,  and  yet  Gregory  in  his  mouth ! 
O  egregious  papist !" 

I  marvel  how  she  lived  through  it ; 
but  she  assured  us  she  was  never  even 
near  unto  fainting,  but  stood  immova- 
ble, hearing  every  sound,  listening  to 
each  word  and  groan,  printing  them 
on  the  tablet  of  her  heart,  wherein 
they  have  ever  remained  as  sacred 
memories. 

Mr.  Wells,  so  far  from  being  terri- 
fied by  the  sight  of  his  friend's  death, 
expressed  a  desire  to  have  his  own 
hastened ;  and,  like  unto  Sir  Thomas 
More,  was  merry  to  the  last ;  for  he 
cried,  "  Despatch,  despatch,  Mr.  Top- 
cliffe !  Be  you  not  ashamed  to  suffer 
an  old  man  to  stand  here  so  long  in 
his  shirt  in  the  cold  ?  I  pray  God 
make  you  of  a  Saul  a  Paul,  of  a  per- 
secutor a  Catholic."  A  murmur, 
hoarse  and  loud,  from  the  crowd  ap- 
prised us  when  all  was  over. 

"  Where  is  Muriel  ?"  I  cried,  going 
to  the  window.  Thence  I  beheld  a  sight 
which  jny  pen  refuseth  to  describe — 
the  sledge  which  was  carrying  away 
the  mangled  remains  of  those  dear 
friends  which  so  short  a  time  before 
we  had  looked  upon  alive  !  Like  in 
a  dream  I  saw  this  spectacle  ;  for  the 
moment  afterward  I  fainted.  Many 
persons  were  running  after  the  cart, 
and  Muriel  keeping  pace  with  what 
to  others  would  have  been  a  sight  full 
of  horror,  but  to  her  were  only  relics 
of  the  saintly  dead.  She  followed, 
heedless  of  the  mob,  unmindful  of  their 
jeers,  intent  on  one  aim — to  procure 
some  portion  of  those  sacred  remains, 
whicli  she  at  last  achieved  in  an  in- 
credible manner;  one  finger  of  Ed- 
mund Genings's  hand,  which  she  laid 
hold  of,  remaining  in  hers.     This  se- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


'A7 


cured,  she    hastened    home,   bearing 
away  this  her  treasure. 

When  I  recovered  from  a  long 
swoon,  she  was  standing  on  one  side 
of  me  and  Lady  Arundel  on  the  other. 
Their  faces  were  very  pale,  but  peace- 
ful ;  and  when  remembrance  returned, 
I  also  felt  a  great  and  quiet  joy 
diffused  in  mine  heart,  such  as  none, 
I  ween,  could  believe  in  who  have 
not  known  the  like.  For  a  while 
all  earthly  cares  left  me  ;  I  seemed  to 
soar  above  this  world.  Even  Basil  I 
could  think  of  with  a  singular  detach- 
ment. It  seemed  as  if  angels  were 
haunting  the  house,  whispering  heav- 
enly secrets.  I  could  not  so  much  as 
think  on  those  blessed  departed  souls 
without  an  increase  of  this  joy  sensibly 
inflaming  my  heart. 

After  Lady  Arundel  had  left  us, 
which  she  did  with  many  loving  words 
and  tender  caresses,  Muriel  and  I 
conversed  long  touching  the  future. 
She  told  me  that  when  her  duty  to  her 
feither  should  end  with  his  life,  she  in- 
tended to  fulfil  the  vow  she  long  ago 
had  made  to  consecrate  herself  wholly 
to  God  in  holy  religion,  and  go  beyond 
the  seas,  to  become  a  nun  of  the  order 
of  St.  Augustine. 

"  May  I  not  leave  this  world  ?"  I 
cried ;  "  may  I  not  also,  forgetting  all 
things  else,  live  for  God  alone  ?" 

A  sweet  sober  smile  illumined  Mu- 
riel's face  as  she  answered,  "  Yea,  by 
all  means  serve  God,  but  not  as  a  nun, 
good  Constance.  Thine  I  take  to  be 
the  mere  shadow  of  a  vocation,  if  even 
so  much  as  that.  A  cloud  hath  for  a 
while  obscured  the  sunshine  of  thy 
hopes  and  called  up  this  shadow  ;  but 
let  this  thin  vapor  dissolve,  and  no 
trace  shall  remain  of  it.  Nay,  nay, 
sweet  one,  'tis  not  chafed,  nor  yet,  ex- 
cept m  rare  instances,  riven  hearts 
which  God  doth  call  to  this  special 
consecration — rather  whole  ones,  noth- 
ing or  scantily  touched  by  the  griefs 
and  joys  which  this  world  can  afford. 
But  I  warrant  thee — nay,  I  may  not 
warrant,"  she  added,  checking  herself, 
"  for  who  can  of  a  surety  forecast  w^hat 
God's    designs    should    be?    But   I 


think  thou  wilt  be,  before  many  years 
have  past,  a  careful  matron,  witli  many 
children  about  thy  apron-strings  to 
try  thy  patience." 

"O  Muriel,"  I  answered,  "how 
should  this  be  ?  I  have  made  my  bed, 
and  I  must  lie  on  it.  Like  a  ibolish 
creature,  unwittingly,  or  rather  rashly, 
I  have  deceived  Basil  into  thinking  I 
do  not  love  him ;  and  if  my  face 
should  yet  recover  its  old  fairness,  he 
shall  still  think  mine  heart  estranged." 

Muriel  shook  her  head,  and  said 
more  entangled  skeins  than  this  one 
had  been  unravelled.  The  next  day 
she  resumed  her  w^onted  labors  in  the 
prisons  and  amongst  the  poor.  Hav- 
ing procured  means  of  access  to  Mis- 
tress Wells,  she  carried  to  her  the 
only  comfort  she  could  now  taste — the 
knowledge  of  her  husband's  holy,  cour- 
ageous end,  and  the  reports  of  the  last 
words  he  did  utter.  Then  having  re- 
ceived a  charge  thereunto  from  Mr. 
Genings,  she  discovered  John  Gen- 
ings's  place  of  residence,  and  v/cnt  to 
tell  liim  that  the  cause  or*  his  broihcr'3 
coming  to  London  was  specially  his 
love  for  him ;  that  his  only  regret  in 
dying  had  been  that  he  was  executed 
before  he  could  see  him  again,  or  com- 
mend him  to  any  friend  of  his  own,  so 
hastened  was  his  death. 

But  this  much-loved  brother  receiv- 
ed her  with  a  notable  coldness  ;  and  • 
far  from  bewailing  the  untimely  and 
bloody  end  of  his  nearest  kinsman,  ho 
betrayed  some  kind  of  contentment  at 
the  thought  that  he  was  now  rid  of  all 
the  persuasions  which  he  suspected  he 
should  otherwise  have  received  from 
Itim  touching  religion. 

About  a  fortnight  afterward  Mr. 
Congleton  expired.  Alas  !  so  trouble- 
some were  the  times,  that  to  see  one, 
howsoever  loved,  sink  peacefully  into 
the  grave,  had  not  the  same  sadness 
w^hich  usually  belongs  to  the  like 
haps. 

Muriel  had  procured  a  priest  for  to 
give  him  extreme  unction — one  Mr. 
Adams,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Wells,  who 
had  sometimes  said  mass  in  his  house. 
He  also  secretly  came  for  to  j^crforiri 


!48 


Constance  Sherwood. 


the  funeral  rites  before  his  burial  -in 
(he  cemetery  of  St.  Martin's  church. 

When  we  returned  home  that  day 
(^rtcr  the  funeral,  this  reverend  gentle- 
man asked  us  if  we  had  heard  any  re- 
port toucliing  the  brother  of  Mr.  Gen- 
ings ;  and  on  our  denial,  he  said, 
"  Talk  "is  ministered  amongst  Catho- 
lics of  his  sudden  conversion." 

"Sudden,  indeed,  it  should  be," 
quoth  Muriel ;  "  for  a  more  indifferent 
listener  to  an  afflicting  message  could 
not  be  met  with  than  he  proved  him- 
self when  I  carried  to  him  Mr.  Gen- 
ings's  dying  words." 

"  Not  more  sudden,"  quoth  Mr. 
Adams,  "than  St.  Paul's  was,  and 
therefore  not  incredible." 

Whilst  we  were  yet  speaking,  a 
servant  came  in,  and  said  a  young 
jrentleman  Avas  at  the  door,  and  very 
urgent  for  to  see  Muriel. 

"  Tell  him,"  she  said,  raising  her 
eyes,  swollen  w^ith  tears,  "  that  I  have 
one  hour  ago  buried  my  father,  and 
am  in  no  condition  to  see  strangers." 

Tlie  man  returned  with  a  paper,  on 
\vhich  these  words  v/ere  v/ritten  : 

"  A  penitent  and  a  wanderer  craveth 
to  speak  with  you.  If  you  shed  tears, 
his  do  incessantly  flow.  If  you  weep 
for  a  father,  he  grieveth  for  one  better 
to  him  than  ten  fathers.  If  your 
plight  is  sad,  his  should  be  desperate, 
J3ut  for  God's  great  mercy  and  a  broth- 
er's prayers  yet  pleading  for  him  in 
heaven  as  once  upon,  earth. 

"John  Genings." 

" Heavens  !"  Muriel  cried,  "it  is 
this  changed  man,  this  Saul  become  a 
Paul,  which  stands  at  the  door  and 
knocks.  Bring  him  in  swiftly ;  the 
best  comfort  1  can  know  this  day  is  to 
see  one  who  awhile  was  lost  and  is 
now  found." 

When  John  Genings  beheld  her 
and  me,  he  awhile  hid  his  face  in 
his  hands,  and  seemed  unable 
to  speak.  To  break  this  silence  Mr. 
Adams  said,  "  Courage,  Mr.  Genings ; 
your  holy  brother  rejoiceth  in  heaven 
over  your  changed  mind,  and  further 


blessings  still,  I  doubt  not,  he  shall  yet 
obtain  for  you." 

Then  this  same  John  raised  his 
head,  and  with  as  great  and  touching 
sorrow  as  can  be  expressed,  after 
thanking  this  unknown  speaker  for  his 
comfortable  words,  he  begged  of  Mu- 
riel to  relate  to  him  each  action  and 
speech  in  the  dying  scene  she  had  wit- 
nessed ;  and  w4ien  she  had  ended  this 
recital,  with  the  like  urgency  he 
moved  me  to  tell  him  all  I  could  re- 
member of  his  brother's  young  years, 
all  my  father  had  written  of  his  life 
and  virtues  at  college,  all  wdiich  we 
had  heard  of  his  labors  since  he  had 
come  into  the  country,  and  lastly,  in  a 
manner  most  simple  and  affecting,  we 
all  entreating  him  thereunto,  he  made 
this  narrative,  addressing  himself 
chiefly  to  Muriel : 

"  You,  madam,  are  acquainted  with 
what  was  the  hardness  of  mine  heart 
and  cruel  indifference  to  my  brother's 
fate  ;  with  what  disdain  I  listened  to 
you,  with  wdiat  pride  I  received  his 
last  advice.  But  about  ten  days  after 
his  execution,  toward  night,  having 
spent  all  that  day  in  sports  and  jollity, 
being  weary  with  play,  I  resorted 
honfe  to  repose  myself.  I  went  into  a 
secret  chamber,  and  w^as  no  sooner 
there  sat  down,  but  forthwith  my  heart 
began  to  be  heavy,  and  I  Aveighed  how 
idly  I  had  spent  that  day.  Amidst 
these  thoughts  there  w^as  presently 
represented  to  me  an  imagination  and 
apprehension  of  the  death  of  my  broth- 
er, and,  amongst  other  things,  how  he 
had  not  long  before  forsaken  all 
worldly  pleasure,  and  for  the  sake  of 
his  religion  alone  endured  dreadful 
torments.  Then  within  myself  I  made 
long  discourses  concerning  his  manner 
of  living  and  mine  own  ;  and  finding 
the  one  to  embrace  pain  and  mortifica- 
tion, and  the  other  to  seek  pleasure — 
the  one  to  live  strictly,  and  the  other 
licentiously — ^I  was  struck  with  ex- 
ceeding terror  and  remorse.  I  wept 
bitterly,  desiring  God  to  illuminate 
mine  understanding,  that  I  might  see 
and  perceive  the  truth.  Oh,  what 
great  joy  and  consolation  did  I  feel  at 


Constance  Sherwood. 


249 


that  instant !  What  reverence  on  tlie 
sudden  did  I  begin  to  bear  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin  and  to  the  Saints  of 
God,  which  before  I  had  never  scarce- 
ly so  much  as  heard  of !  What  strange 
emotions,  as  it  were  inspirations,  with 
exceeding  readiness  of  will  to  change 
my  religion,  took  possession  of  my 
soul!  and  what  heavenly  conception 
had  I  then  of  my  brother's  fehcity  !  I 
imagined  I  saw  him — I  thought  I 
heard  him.  In  this  ecstasy  of  mind  I 
made  a  vow  upon  the  spot,  as  I  lay 
prostrate  on  the  ground,  to  forsake 
kindred  and  country,  to  find  out  the 
tiTJic  knowledge  of  Edmund's  faith. 
Oh,  sir,"  he  ended  by  saying,  turning 
to  Mr.  Adams,  which  he  guessed  to  be 
a  priest,  "  think  you  not  my  brother 
obtained  for  me  in  heaven  what  on 
earth  he  had  not  obtained  ?  for  here  I 
am  become  a  Catholic  in  faith  without 
persuasion  or  conference  with  any  one 
man  in  the  world  ?" 

"  Ay,  my  good  friend,'*  Mr.  Adams 
replied;  ''the  blood  of  martyrs  will 
ever  prove  the  seed  of  the  Church. 
Let  us  then,  in  our  private  prayers, 
implore  the  suffrages  of  those  who  in 
this  country  do  lose  their  lives  for  the 
faith,  and  take  unto  ourselves  the 
words  of  Jeremiah :  '  O  Lord,  remem- 
ber what  has  happened  unto  us.  Be- 
hold and  see  our  great  reproach ;  our 
inheritance  is  gone  to  strangers,  our 
houses  to  aliens.  We  are  become  as 
children  without  a  father,  our  mothers 
are  made  as  it  were  widows.' " 

These  last  words  of  Holy  Writ 
brought  to  mine  own  mind  private  sor- 
rows, and  caused  me  to  shed  tears. 
Soon  after  John  Genings  departed 
from  England  without  giving  notice  to 
us  or  any  of  his  friends,  and  went  be- 
yond seas  to  execute  his  promise.  I 
have  heard  that  he  has  entered  the 
holy  order  of  St.  Francis,  and  is  seek- 
ing to  procure  a  convent  of  that  re- 
ligion at  Douay,  in  hopes  of  restoring 
the  English  Franciscan  province,  of 
which  it  is  supposed  he  will  be  first 
provincial.  Eeport  doth  state  him  to 
be  an  exceeding  strict  and  holy  relig- 
ious, and  like  to  prove  an  instrument 


in  furnishing  the  English  mission  with 
many  zealous  and  apostolical  laborers. 

Muriel  and  I  were  solitary  in  that 
great  city  where  so  many  misfortunes 
had  beset  us ;  she  with  her  anchor  cast 
where  her  hopes  could  not  be  deceived ; 
I  by  mine  own  folly  like  unto  a  ship 
at  sea  without  a  chart.  Womanly  re- 
serve, mixed,  I  ween,  with  somewhat 
of  pride,  restraining  mo  from  writing 
to  Basil,  though,  as  my  face  improved 
each  day,  I  deplored  my  hasty  folly, 
and  desired  nothing  so  much  as  to  sec 
him  again,  when,  if  his  love  should 
prove  unchar»ged  (shame  on  that  word 
if!  which  my  heart  disavowed),  we 
should  be  as  heretofore,  and  the  suffer- 
ing I  had  caused  him  and  endured  my- 
self would  end.  But  how  this  might 
happen  I  foresaw  not ;  and  life  was 
sad  and  weary  while  so  much  suspense 
lasted. 

Muriel  would  not  forsake  me  while 
in  this  plight ;  but  although  none  could 
have  judged  it  from  her  cheerful  and 
amiable  behavior,  I  well  knew  that 
she  sighed  for  the  haven  of  a  religious 
home,  and  grieved  to  keep  her  from  it. 
After  some  weeks  spent  in  this  fashion, 
with  very  little  comfort,  I  was  sitting 
one  morning  dismally  forecasting  the 
future,  writing  letter  after  letter  to  Ba- 
sil, which  still  I  tore  up  rather  than 
send  them — ^for  I  warrant  you  it  was 
no  easy  matter  for  to  express  in 
wivting  what  I  longed  to  say.  To  tell 
him  the  cause  of  my  breaking  our  con- 
tract was  so  much  as  to  compel  him 
to  the  performance  of  it ;  and  albeit  I 
was  no  longer  so  ill-favored  as  at  the 
first,  yet  the  good  looks  I  had  before  my 
sickness  had  by  no  means  wholly  re- 
turned. Sometimes  I  wrote :  "  Your 
thinking,  dear  Basil,  that  I  do  affection 
any  but  yourself  is  so  false  and  injuri- 
ous an  imagination,  that  I  cannot  suf- ' 
fer  you  to  entertain  it.  Be  sure  I  never 
can  and  never  shall  love  any  but  you ; 
yet,  for  all  that,  I  cannot  marry  you." 
Then  effacing  this  last  sentence,  which 
verily  behed  my  true  desire,  I  would 
write  another : "  Methinks  if  you  should 
see  me  now,  yourself  would  not  wish 
otherwise  than  to  dissolve  a  contract 


50 


Constance  Sherwood. 


wherein  your  contentment  should  be 
leas  than  it  hath  been."  And  then  think- 
ing this  should  be  too  obscure,  changed 
it  to — "  In  sooth,  dear  Basil,  my  ap- 
pearance is  so  altered  that  you  would 
yourself,  I  ween,  not  desire  for  to  wed 
one  so  different  from  the  Constance 
you  have  seen  and  loved."  But  pride 
whispered  to  restrain  this  open  men- 
tion of  my  suspicious  fears  of  his  lik- 
ing me  less  for  my  changed  face ;  yet 
withal,  conscience  reproved  this  mis- 
doubt of  one  whose  affection  had  ever 
shown  itself  to  be  of  the  nobler  sort, 
which  looketh  rather  to  the  qualities 
of  the  heart  and  mind  than  to  the  ex- 
terior charms  of  a  fair  visage. 

Alas !  what  a  torment  doth  perplex- 
ity occasion.  I  had  let  go  my  pen, 
and  my  tears  were  falling  on  the  pa- 
per, when  Muriel  opened  the  door  of 
the  parlor. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  cried,  hiding  my 
face  with  mine  hand,  that  she  should 
not  see  me  weeping. 

"  A  letter  from  Lady  Arundel,"  she 
answered. 

I  eagerly  took  it  from  her ;  and  on  the 
reading  of  it  found  it  contained  an  ur- 
gent request  from  her  ladyship,  couched 
in  most  affectionate  terms,  and  mask- 
ing the  kindness  of  its  intent  under  a 
show  of  entreating,  as  a  favor  to  her- 
self, that  I  would  come  and  reside  with 
her  at  Arundel  Castle,  where  she  great- 
ly needed  the  solace  of  a  friend's  com- 
pany, during  her  lord's  necessary  ab- 
sences. "  Mine  own  dear,  good  Con- 
stance," she  wrote,  "  come  to  me  quick- 
ly. In  a  letter  I  cannot  well  express  all 
the  good  you  will  thus  do  to  me.  For 
mme  own  part,  I  would  fain  say  come 
to  me  until  death  shall  part  us.  But 
so  selfish  I  would  not  be  ;  yet  prithee 
come  until  such  time  as  the  clouds 
which  have  obscured  the  fair  sky  of 
thy  future  prospects  have  passed  away, 
and  thy  Basil's  fortunes  are  mended ; 
for  I  will  not  cease  to  call  him  thine, 
for  all  that  thou  hast  thyself  thrust  a 
spoke  in  a  wheel  which  otherwise  should 
liave  run  smoothly,  for  the  which  thou 
art  now  doing  penance :  but  be  of  good 
cheer;    time   will   bring  thee   shrift. 


Some  kind  of  comfort  I  can  promise 
thee  in  this  house,  greater  than  I  dare 
for  to  commit  to  paper.  Lose  no  timo 
then.  From  thy  last  letter  methinks 
the  gentle  turtle-dove  at  whose  side  thou 
dost  nov/  nestle  hath  found  herself  a 
nest  whereunto  she  longeth  to  fly..  Let 
her  spread  her  wings  thither,  and  do 
thou  hasten  to  the  shelter  of  these  old 
walls  and  the  loving  faithful  heart  of 
thy  poor  friend, 
"  Anne  Arundel  and  Sukkey." 

Before   a    fortnight    was    overpast 
Muriel  and  I  had  parted ;  she  for  her 
religious  home  beyond  seas,  I  for  the 
castle  of  my  Lord  Arundel,  whither  1 
travelled  in  two  days,  resting  on  my 
way  at  the  pleasant  village  of  Horsham. 
During  the  latter  part  of  the  journey 
the  road  lay  through  a  very  wild  ex- 
panse of  down ;  but  as  soon  as  I  caught 
sight  of  the  sea  my  heart  bounded  with 
joy;  for  to  gaze  on  its  blue  expanse 
seemed  to  carry  me  beyond  the  limits 
of  this  isle  to  the  land  where  Basil 
dwelt.     When  I  reached   the  castle, 
the  sight  of  the  noble  gateway  and 
keep  filled  me  with  admiration:  and 
riding  into  the  court  thereof,  I"  looked 
with  wonder  on  the  military  defences 
bristling  on  every  side.     But  what  a 
sweet  picture  smiled  from  one  of  the 
narrow  windows  over  above  the  en- 
trance-door ! — mine  own  loved  friend, 
yet  fairer  in  her  matronly  and  mother- 
ly beauty  than  even  in  her  girlhood's 
loveliness,  holding  in   her  arms  the 
pretty  bud  which  had  blossomed  on  a 
noble  tree  in  the  time  of  adversity. 
Her  countenance  beamed  on  me  like 
the  morning  sun's ;  and  my  heart  ex- 
panded with  joy  when,  half-way  up  the 
stairs   which  led  to   her   chamber,  I 
found   myself  inclosed  in   her  arms. 
She  led  me  to  a  settle  near  a  cheerful 
fire,  and  herself  removed  my  riding- 
cloak,  my  hat  and  veil,  stroked  my 
cheek  with  two  of  her  delicate  white 
fingers,  and  said  with  a  smile, 

"  In  sooth,  my  dear  Constance,  ihou 
art  an  arrant  cheat." 

"  How  so,  most  dear  lady  ?"  I  said, 
likewise  smiling. 


Constance  SJienvood. 


"  Why,  Ihou  firt  ci3  comclj  cs  ever  I 
saw  tliee ;  wliich,  nfier  all  the  torments 
inflicted  on  poor  Master  Hook  wood  by 
thy  prophetical  visioii  of  an  everlast- 
ing deformity,  carefully  concealed  from 
iiim  under  the  garb  of  a  sudden  fit  of 
inconstancy,  is  a  very  nefarious  injus- 
tice. Go  to,  go  to ;  if  he  should  see 
Ifiec  now,  he  never  would  believe  but 
that  that  management  of  thine  was  a 
cunning  device  for  to  break  faith  with 
him." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  I  cried ;  "  if  I  should 
be  ever  so  happy,  which  I  deserve  not, 
for  to  see  him  again,  there  could  never 
be  for  one  moment  a  mistrust  on  his 
part  of  a  love  which  is  too  strong 
and  too  fond  for  concealment.  If  the 
feebleness  of  sickness  had  not  bred 
unreasonable  fears,  methinks  I  should 
not  have  been  guilty  of  so  great  a 
folly  as  to  think  he  would  prize  less 
what  he  was  always  wont  most  to 
treasure  far  above  their  merits — -the 
heart  and  mind  of  his  poor  Constance 
— because  the  casket  which  held  them 
had  waxed  unseemly.  But  when  the 
day  shall  come  in  which  Basil  and  I 
may  meet,  God  only  knoweth.  Hu- 
man foresight  cannot  attain  to  this  pre- 
vision." 

Lady  Arur.deFs  eyes  had  a  smiling 
expression  then  Vv'hich  surprised  me. 
For  mine  own  heart  was  full  when  I 
thus  spoke,  and  I  was  wont  to  meet  in 
her  with  a  more  quick  return  of  the 
like  feelings  I  expressed  than  at  that 
time  appeared.  Slight  inward  re- 
sentments, painfully,  albeit  not  angri- 
ly, entertained,  I  was  by  nature 
prone  to ;  and  in  this  case  the  effect 
of  this  impression  suddenly  checked 
the  joy  which  at  my  first  arrival  I 
had  experienced.  O,  how  much  se- 
cret discipline  should  be  needed  for  to 
rule  that  little  unruly  kingdom  with- 
in us,  which  many  look  not  into  till 
serious  rebellions  do  arise,  which  need 
fire  and  sword  to  quell  them  for  lack 
of  timely  repression !  Her  ladyship 
set  before  me  some  food,  and  con- 
strained me  to  eat,  which  I  did  mere- 
ly for  to  content  her.  She  appear- 
ed to  me  somewhat  restless :   beocin- 


ning  a  sentence,  and  then  breaking 
off  suddenly  in  the  midst  thereof; 
going  io  and  out  of  the  chamber; 
hiughing  at  one  time,  and  then  seem- 
ing as  if  about  to  weep.  When  I 
had  finished  eating,  and  a  servant 
had  removed  the  dishes,  she  sat 
down  by  my  side  and  took  my  hand 
in  hers.  Then  the  tears  truly  began 
to  roll  down  her  cheeks. 

"  O,  for  God's  sake,  what  aileth  you, 
dearest  lady  ?"  I  said,  uneasily  gazing 
on  her  agitated  countenance. 

"  Nothing  ails  me,"  she  answered  ; 
"  only  I  fear  to  frighten  thee,  albeit 
in  a  joyful  manner." 

"  Frightened  with  joy  I"  I  sadly  an- 
swered. "  O,  that  should  be  a  rare 
fright,  and  an  unwonted  one  to  me  of 
late." 

"  Therefore,"  she  said,  smiling 
through  her  tears,  "  peradventure  the 
more  to  be  feared." 

"What  joy  do  you  speak  of?  I 
pray  you,  sweet  lady,  keep  me  not  in 
suspense." 

"If,  for  instance,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice,  pressing  my  hands  very 
hard, — ^"  if  I  was  to  tell  thee  Con- 
stance, that  thy  Basil  was  here, 
shouldst  thou  not  be  affrighted  ?" 

Methinks  I  must  have  turned  very 
white  ;  leastways,  I  began  to  trem- 
ble. 

"Is  he  here?"  I  said,  almost  be- 
side myself  with  the  fearful  hope  her 
words  awoke. 

"  Yea,"  she  said.  "  Since  three 
days  he  is  here." 

For  a  moment  I  neither  spoke  nor 
moved. 

"  How  comes  it  about  ?  how  doth 
it  happen  ?"  I  began  to  say ;  but  a 
passion  of  tears  choked  my  utterance. 
I  fell  into  her  arms,  sobbing  on  her 
breast ;  for  verily  I  had  no  power  to 
restrain  myseff.  I  heard  her  say, 
"  Master  Rookwood,  come  in."  Then, 
after  those  sad  long  weary  years,  I 
again  heard  his  cheerful  voice ;  then 
I  saw  his  kind  eyes  speaking  what 
words  could  never  have  uttered,  or 
one-haif  so  well  expressed.  Then  I 
felt  the  happiness  which  is  most  like, 


252 


Constance  Sherwood. 


I  ween,  of  any  on  earth  to  that  of 
heaven :  after  long  parting,  to  meet 
again  one  intensely  loved — each  heart 
overflowing  vrith  an  unspoken  joy 
and  with  an  unbounded  thankfulness 
to  God.  Amazement  did  so  fill  me 
at  this  unlooked-for  good,  that  I 
seemed  content  for  a  while  to  think 
of  it  as  of  a  dream,  and  only  feared 
to  be  awoke.  But  oh,  with  how  many 
sweet  tears  of  gratitude — with  what 
bursts  of  wonder  and  admiration — I 
soon  learnt  how  Lady  Arundel  had 
formed  this  kind  plot,  to  which  Muriel 
had  been  privy,  for  to  bring  together 
parted  lovers,  and  procure  to  others 
the  happiness  she  so  often  lacked 
herself — the  company  of  the  most 
loved  person  in  the  world.  She  had 
herself  written  to  Basil,  and  related 
the  cause  of  my  apparent  change  ;  a 
cause,  she  said,  at  no  time  sufficient 
ibr  to  warrant  a  desperate  action,  and 
even  then  passing  away.  But  that 
had  it  for  ever  endured,  she  was  of 
opinion  his  was  a  love  would  survive 
any  such  accident  as  touched  only  the 
exterior,  when  all  else  was  unimpair- 
ed. She  added,  that  when  Mr.  Con- 
gleton,  who  was  then  at  the  point  of 
death,  should  have  expired,  and  Mu- 
riel gone  beyond  seas  to  fulfil  her  re- 
ligious intent,  she  would  use  all  the 
persuasion  rn  her  power  to  bring  me 
to  reside  with  her,  which  was  the 
thing  she  most  desired  in  the  world ; 
and  that  if  he  should  think  it  possible 
under  another  name  for  to  cross  the 
seas  and  land  at  some  port  in  Sussex, 
he  should  be  the  welcomest  guest  im- 
aginable at  Arundel  Castle,  if  even, 
like  St.  Alexis,  he  should  hide  his  no- 
bility under  the  garb  of  rags,  and 
come  thither  begging  on  foot ;  but  yet 
she  hoped,  for  his  sake,  it  should  not 
so  happen,  albeit  nothing  could  be 
more  honorable  if  the  cause  was  a 
good  one.  It  needed  no  more  induce- 
ment than  what  this  letter  contained 
for  to  move  Basil  to  attempt  this  se- 
cret return.  He  took  the  name  of 
Martingale,  and  procured  a  passage 
in  a  small  trading  craft,  which  landed 
liim  at  the  port  of  a  small  town  named 


Littleharapcon,   about   three    or    four 
miles    from    Arundel.       Thence    he 
walked  to  the  castle,  where  the  coun- 
tess feigned  him  to  be  a  leech  sent  by 
my  lord  to  prescribe  remedies  for  a 
pain  in  her  head,  which  she  was  oft- 
entimes  afilicted  with,  and    as   such 
entertained  him  in  the  eyes  of  stran- 
gers as  long  as  he  continued   there, 
which  did  often  move  us  to  great  mer- 
riment;   for  some  of  the   neighbors 
which  she  was   forced  to  see,  would 
sometimes  ask  for  to  consult  the  coun- 
tess's  physician ;    and  to  avoid  mis- 
doubts, Basil  once  or  twice  made  up 
some  innocent  compounds,  which  an 
old  gentleman  and  a  maiden  lady  in 
the  town  vowed  had  cured  them,  the 
one  of  a  fit  of  the  gout,  and  the  other 
of  a  very  sharp  disorder  in  her  stom- 
ach.    But  to  return  to   the   bhssful 
first  day  of  our  meeting,  one  of  the 
happiest  I  had  yet  known  ;  for  a  par- 
amount affection  doth  so  engross  the 
heart,  -that    other  sorrows  vanish    in 
its  presence  like  dewdrops  in  the  sun- 
shine.     I  can  never  forget  the  small- 
est particle   of  its  many  joys.     The 
long  talk  between  Basil  and  me,  first 
in  Lady  Arundel's  chamber,  and  then 
in  the  gallery  of  the  castle,  walking  uj) 
and  down,  and  v/hen  I  was  tired,  I 
sitting  and  he  standing  by  the   win- 
dow which  looked  on  the  fair  valley 
and  silvery  river  Arun,  running  to- 
ward the  sea,  through  pleasant  pas- 
tures,  with   woody   slopes    on    botli 
sides,  a  fair  and  a  peaceful    scene; 
fair  and    peaceful    as    the    prospect. 
Basil  unfolded  to  me  that  day,  if  we 
could   but   once   in  safety  cross  the 
seas  ;  for  his  debtors  had  remitted  to 
him  in  France  the  moneys  which  they 
owed  him,  and  he   had  purchased  a 
cottage  in  a  very  commodious  village 
near  the   town  of  Boulogne-sur-Mer, 
with  an  apple-orchard  and  a  garden 
stored  with  gay  flowers  and  beehives, 
and  a  meadow  with  two  large  walnut- 
trees  in  it.    "  And  then  bethink  thee," 
he  added,  "  mine  own  dear  love,  that 
right  in  front  of  this  fine  mansion  doth 
stand  the  parish  church,  where  God  Is 
worshipped  in  a  Catholic  manner  in 


Constance  Sherwood* 


^03 


pence  nnd  freedom  ;  and  nothing 
greater  or  more  weighty  need,  me- 
thinks,  to  be  said  in  its  praise." 

I  said  I  thought  so  too,  and  that 
the  picture  he  drew  of  it  liked  me 
well. 

'"But,"  quoth  Basil  suddenly,  "I 
must  tell  thee,  sweetheart,  I  liked  not 
well  thy  behavior  touching  thine  alter- 
ed face,  and  the  misleading  letter  thou 
didst  send  me  at  that  time.  No  1"  he 
exclaimed  with  great  vehemency,  "  it 
mislikes  me  sorely  that  thou  shouldst 
have  doubted  my  love  and  faith,  and 
dealt  with  me  so  injuriously.  If  I  was 
now  by  some  accident  disfigured,  I 
must  by  that  same  token  expect 
thine  affection  for  me  should  de- 
cay." 

"  O  Basil !"  I  cried,  "  that  would  be 
an  impossible  thing  !*' 

"  Wherefore  impossible  ?"  ho  repli- 
ed ;  "  you  thought  such  a  change  pos- 
sible in  me  ?" 

"  Because,"  I  said,  smiling, "  women 
are  the  most  constant  creatures  in  the 
world,  and  not  fickle  like  unto  men,  or 
so  careful  of  a  good  complexion  in 
others,  or  a  fine  set  of  features." 

"  Tut,  tut !"  he  cried,  "  I  do  admire 
that  thou  shouldst  dare  to  utter  so 
great  a  .  .  .  ."  then  he  stopped,  and , 
laughing,  added,  "  the  last  half  of 
lialeigh's  name,  as  the  queen's  bad 
riddle  doth  make  it."* 

Well,  much  talk  of  this  sort  was 
ministered  between  us  ;  but  albeit  I 
find  pleasure  in  the  recalling  of  it, 
metliinks  the  reading  thereof  should 
easily  weary  others  ;  so  I  must  check 
my  pen,  which,  like  unto  a  garrulous 
old  gossip,  doth  run  on,  overstepping 
the  limits  of  discretion. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Before  I  arrived,  Lady  Arundel 
had  made  Basil  privy  to  a  great  se- 
cret, W' ith  warrant  to  impart  it  to  me. 
In   a   remote  portion  of   the  castle's 

*  "  The  bane  of  the  Btomach,  and  the  word  of 
disgrace. 
Is  the  name  of  the  gentleman  with  the  bold 
face." 


buildings  was  concealed  at  that  time 
Father  Southwell,  a  man  who  had  not 
his  like  for  piety  and  good  parts ;  a 
sweet  poet  also,  whose  pieces  of  verse, 
chiefly  written  in  that  obscure  cham- 
ber in  Arundel  Castle,  have  been 
since  done  into  print,  and  do  win 
great  praise  from  all  sorts  of  people. 
Adjoining  to  his  room,  which  only 
one  servant  in  the  house,  who  carried 
his  meals  to  him,  had  knowledge  of, 
and  from  which  he  could  not  so  much 
as  once  look  out  of  the  window  for 
fear  of  being  seen,  was  a  small  orato- 
ry where  he  said  mass  every  day,  and 
by  a  secret  passage  Lady  Arundel 
went  from  her  apartments  for  to  hear 
it.  That  same  evening  after  supper 
she  led  me  thither  for  to  get  this  good 
priest's  blessing,  and  also  his  counsel 
touching  my  marriage ;  for  both  her 
ladyship  and  Basil  w^ere  urgent  for  it 
to  take  place  in  a  private  manner  at 
the  castle  before  we  left  England. 
For,  they  argued,  if  there  should  be 
danger  in  this  departure,  it  were  best 
encountered  together  ;  and  except  we 
were  married  it  should  be  an  impossi- 
ble thing  for  me  to  travel  in  his  com- 
pany and  land  with  him  in  France. 
Catholics  could  be  married  hi  a  secret 
manner  now  that  the  needs  of  the 
times,  and  the  great  perils  many  were 
exposed  to,  gave  warrant  for  it.  After 
some  talk  with  Father  Southwell  and 
Lady  Arundel,  I  consented  to  their 
wishes  with  more  gladness  of  heart, 
I  ween,  than  was  seemly  to  exhibit ; 
for  verily  I  was  better  contented  than 
can  be  thought  of  to  think  I  should 
be  at  last  married  to  my  dear  Basil, 
and  never  more  to  part  from  him,  if  it 
so  pleased  God  that  we  should  land 
safely  m  France,  which  did  seem  to 
me  then  the  land  of  promise. 

The  next  days  were  spent  in  fore- 
casting means  for  a  safe  departure,  as 
soon  as  these  secret  nuptials  "should 
have  taken  place  ;  but  none  had  been 
yet  resolved  on,  when  one  morning  I 
was  called  to  Lady  Arundel's  cham- 
ber, whom  I  found  in  tears  and  great- 
ly disturbed,  for  that  she  had  heard 
from  Lady  Margaret  Sackville,  who 


■54 


Constance  Sherwood. 


was  then  in  London,  that  Lord  Arun- 
del was  once  more  resolved  to  leave 
the  realm,  albeit  Father  Edmunds  did 
dissuade  him  from  that  course;  but 
some  other  friend's  persuasions  were 
more  availing,  and  he  had  determined 
to  go  to  France,  where  he  might  live 
in  safety  and  serve  God  quietly. 

My  lady's  agitation  at  this  news 
was  very  great.  She  said  nothing 
should  content  her  but  to  go  with  him, 
albeit  she  was  then  with  child ;  and 
she  should  write  to  tell  him  so ;  but 
before  she  could  send  a  letter  Lord 
Arundel  came  to  the  castle,  and  held 
converse  for  many  hours  with  her  and 
Father  Southwell.  When  I  met  her 
afterward  in  the  gallery,  her  eyes 
were  red  with  weeping.  She  said  my 
lord  desired  to  see  Basil  and  me  in 
her  chamber  at  nine  of  the  clock.  He 
wished  to  speak  with  us  of  his  resolve 
to  cross  the  seas,  and  she  prayed  God 
some  good  should  arise  out  of  it.  Then 
she  added,  "  I  am  now  going  to  the 
chapel,  and  if  thou  hast  nothing  of 
any  weight  to  detain  thee,  then  come 
thither  also,  for  to  join  thy  prayers 
with  mine  for  the  favorable  issue  of  a 
very  doubtful  matter." 

When  we  repaired  to  her  ladyship's 
chamber  at  the  time  appointed,  my 
lord  greeted  us  in  an  exceeding  kind 
manner  ;  and  after  some  talk  touching 
Basil's  secret  return  to  England,  our 
marriage,  and  then  as  speedy  as  pos- 
sible going  abroad,  his  lordship  said : 
"  I  also  am  compelled  to  take  a  like 
course,  for  my  evil-willers  are  resolv- 
ed to  work  my  ruin  and  overthrow, 
and  will  succeed  therein  by  means  of 
my  religion.  Many  actions  which  at 
the  outset  may  seem  rash  and  unad- 
vised, after  sufficient  consideration  do 
appear  to  be  just  and  necessary  ;  and, 
raethinks,  my  dearest  wife  and  Father 
Southwell  are  now  minded  to  recom- 
mend what  at  first  they  mlsliked,  and 
to  see  that  in  this  my  present  intent  I 
take  the  course  which,  triough  it  im- 
perils my  fortunes,  will  tend  to  my 
soul's  safety  and  that  of  my  children. 
Since  I  have  conceived  this  intent,  I 
thank  God  I  have  found  a  great  deal 


more  quietness  in  my  mind;  and" in 
this  respect  I  have  just  occasion  to  es- 
teem my  past  troubles  as  my  greatest 
felicity,  for  they  have  been  the  means 
of  leading  me  to  that  course  which 
ever  brings  perfect  quietness,  and  only 
procures  eternal  happiness.  I  am  re- 
solved, as  my  dear  Nan  well  knoweth, 
to  endure  any  punishment  rather  than 
willingly  to  decline  from  what  I  have 
begun.  I  have  bent  myself  as  nearly 
as  I  could  to  continue  in  the  same, 
and  to  do  no  act  repugnant  to  my 
faith  and  profession.  And  by  means 
hereof  I  am  often  compelled  to  do 
many  things  which  may  procure  peril 
to  myself,  and  be  an  occasion  of  mis- 
like  to  her  majesty.  For,  look  you, 
on  the  first  day  of  this  parliament, 
when  the  queen  was  hearing  of  a  ser- 
mon in  the  cathedral  church  of 
Westminster,  above  in  the  chancel,  I 
was  driven  to  walk  by  myself  below 
in  one  of  the  aisles  ;  and  another  day 
this  last  Lent,  when  she  was  hearing 
another  sermon  in  the  chapel  at 
Greenwich,  I  was  forced  to  stay  all 
the  while  in  the  presence-chamber. 
Then  also  when  on  any  Sunday  or 
holyday  her  grace  goes  to  her  great 
closet,  I  am  forced  either  to  stay  in  the 
privy  chamber,  and  not  to  wait  upon 
her  at- all,  or  else  presently  to  depart 
as  soon  as  I  have  brought  her  to  the 
chapel.  These  things,  and  many 
more,,  I  can  by  no  means  escape,  but 
only  by  an  open  plain  discovery  of  my- 
self, in  the  eye  and  opinion  of  all  men, 
as  to  the  true  cause  of  my  refusal ; 
neither  can  it  now  be  long  hidden,  al- 
though for  a  while  it  may  not  have 
been  generally  noted  and  observed." 
Lady  Arundel  sighed  and  said  : 
*'  I  must  needs  confess  that  of  ne- 
cessity it  must  shortly  be  discover- 
ed ;  and  when  I  remember  what  a 
watchful  and  jealous  eye  is  carried 
over  all  such  as  are  known  to  be  re- 
cusants, and  also  how  their  lodgings 
are  continually  searched,  and  to  how 
great  danger  they  are  subject  if  a 
Jesuit  or  seminary  priest  be  found 
within  their  house,  I  begin  to  see  that 
either  vou  cannot  serve  God  in  such 


CoTi  stance  Sherwood. 


Goi't  a3  yon  have  professed,  or  else 
you  must  incur  the  hazard  of  greater 
sufferings  than  I  am  wilUng  you 
should  endure." 

"For  my  part,"  Basil  said,  "I 
would  ask,  my  lord,  those  that  hate 
you  most,  whether  being  of  the  relig- 
ion which  you  do  profess,  they  would 
not  take  that  coursa  for  safety  of  their 
souls  and  discharge  of  their  con- 
sciences which,  you  do  now  meditate  ? 
And  either  they  must  directly  tell  you 
that  they  would  have  done  the  same, 
or  acknowledge  themselves  to  be  mere 
atheists ;  which,  howsoever  they  be 
affected  in  their  hearts,  I  think  they 
would  be  loth  to  confess  v/ith  their 
mouths." 

"  What  sayest  thou,  Constance,  of 
my  lord's  intent?"  Lady  Arundel 
said,  when  Basil  left  off  speaking. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  utter  my  think- 
ing in  his  presence,  and  in  yours, 
dearest  lady,"  I  replied ;  "  but  if  you 
command  me  to  it,  methinks  that  hav- 
ing had  his  house  so  fatally  and  suc- 
cessfully touched,  and  finding  himself 
to  be  of  that  religion  which  is  account- 
ed dangerous  and  odious  to  the  pres- 
ent state,  which  her  majesty  doth  de- 
test, and  of  which  she  is  most  jealous 
and  doubtful,  and  seeing  he  might  now 
be  drawn  for  his  conscience  into  a 
great  and  continual  danger,  not  being 
able  to  do  any  act  or  duty  whereunto 
his  religion  doth  bind  him  without  in- 
curring the  danger  of  felony,  he  must 
needs  run  upon  his  death  headlong, 
which  is  repugnant  to  the  law  of  God 
and  flatly  against  conscience,  or  else 
he  must  resolve  to  escape  these  perils 
by  the  means  he  doth  propose." 

"  Yea,"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  with 
so  much  emotion  that  his  voice  shook 
in  the  utterance  of  the  words,  "  long 
have  I  debated  with  myself  on  the 
course  to  take.  I  do  see  it  to  be  the 
safest  way  to  depart  out  of  the  realm, 
and  abide  in  some  other  place  where  I 
may  live  without  danger  of  my  con- 
science, without  offence  to  the  queen, 
without  daily  peril  of  my  life  ;  but 
yet  I  was  drawn  by  such  forcible  per- 
suasions to  be  of  another  opinion,  as 


I  could  not  easily  resolve  on  which 
side  to  settle  my  determination.  For 
on  the  one  hand  my  native,  and  oh 
how  dearly  loved  country,  my  ov/n 
early  friends,  my  kinsfolk,  my  home, 
and,  more  than  all,  my  wife,  which  I 
must  for  a  while  part  with  if  I  go,  do 
invite  me  to  stay.  Poverty  awaits 
me  abroad;  but  in  what  have  state 
and  riches  benefited  us,  Nan  ?  Shall 
not  ease  of  heart  and  freedom  from 
haunting  fears  compensate  for  vain 
Avealth  ?  When,  with  the  sweet  bur- 
then in  thine  arms  which  for  a  while 
doth  detain  thee  here,  thou  shalt  kneel 
before  God's  altar  in  a  Catholic  land, 
methinks  thou  wilt  have  but  scanty 
regrets  for  the  trappings  of  fortune." 

"  God  is  my  witness,"  the  sweet 
lady  replied,  "  that  should  be  the  hap- 
piest day  of  my  life.  But  I  fear — 
yea,  much  I  do  fear — the  chasm  of 
parting  which  doth  once  more  open 
betwixt  thee  and  me.  Prithee,  Phil, 
let  me  go  Avith  thee,"  she  tearfully 
added. 

"  Nay,  sweet  Nan,"  he  answered  ; 
"  thou  knowest  the  physicians  forbid 
thy  journeying  at  the  present  time  so 
much  as  hence  to  London.  How 
should  it  then  behoove  thee  to  run  the 
perils  of  the  sea,  and  nightly  voyage, 
and  it  may  be  rough  usage  ?  Nay, 
let  me  behold  thee  again,  some  months 
hence,  with  a  fair  boy  in  thine  arms, 
which  if  I  can  but  once  behold,  my 
joy  shall  be  full,  if  I  should  have  to 
labor  with  mine  hands  for  to  support 
him  and  thee." 

She  bowed  her  head  on  the  hand 
outstretched  to  her  ;  but  I  could  see 
the  anguish  with  which  she  yielded 
her  assent  to  this  separation.  Me- 
thinks there  was  some  sort  of  presen- 
timent of  the  future  heightening  her 
present  grief ;  she  seemed  so  loth  her 
lord  should  go,  albeit  reason  and  ex- 
pediency forced  from  her  an  unwilling 
consent. 

Before  the  conversation  in  Lady 
Arundel's  chamber  ended,  the  earl 
pi'oposed  that  Basil  and  I  should  ac- 
company him  abroad,  and  cross  the 
sea  in  the  craft  he  should  privately 


256 


Constance  Sherwood. 


hire,  which  would  Eciil  from  Little- 
hamptoii,  and  carrj  us  to  some  port 
of  France,  whence  along  the  coast  we 
could  travel  to  Boulogne.  This  liked 
her  ladyship  well.  Her  eyes  entreat- 
ed our  consent  thereunto,  as  if  it 
should  have  been  a  favor  she  asked, 
which  indeed  was  rather  a  benefit 
conferred  on  us  ;  for  nothing  would 
serve  my  lord  but  that  he  should  be 
at  the  entire  charge  of  the  voyage, 
who  smiling  said,  for  such  good  com 
pany  as  he  should  thus  enjoy  he  should 
be  willing  to  be  taxed  twice  as  much, 
and  yet  consider  himself  to  be  the 
obliged  party  in  this  contract. 

"  But  we  must  be  married  first," 
Basil  bluntly  said. 

Lady  Arundel  replied  that  Father 
Southwell  could  perform  the  ceremony 
v.dien  we  pleased — yea,  on  the  mor- 
row, if  it  should  be  convenient ;  and 
that  my  lord  should  be  present  there- 
at. 

I  said  this  should  be  very  short  no- 
tice, I  thought,  for  to  be  married  the 
next  day  ;  upon  which  Basil  exclaim- 
ed 

"These  be  not  times,  sweetheart, 
for  ceremonies,  fashions,  and  nice  de-. 
lays.  Methinks  since  our  betrothal 
there  hath  been  sufficient  waiting  for 
to  serve  the  turn  of  the  nicest  lady  in 
the  world  in  the  matter  of  reserves 
and  yeas  and  nays." 

Which  is  the  sharpest  thing,  I 
think,  Basil  hath  uttered  to  me  either 
before  or  since  we  have  been  married. 
vSo,  to  appease  him,  I  said  not  another 
word  against  this  sudden  wedding  ; 
and  the  next  day  but  one,  at  nine  of 
the  clock,  was  then  fixed  for  the  time 
thereof. 

On  the  following  morning  Lord 
Arundel  and  Basil  (the  earl  had  con- 
ceived a  very  great  esteem  and  good 
disposition  toward  him ;  as  great,  and 
greater  he  told  me,  as  for  some  he 
had  known  for  as  many  years  as  him 
hours)  went  out  together,  under  pre- 
tence o*'  'ihooting  in  the  woods  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river  about  Leo- 
minster, but  verily  to  proceed  to  Lit- 
tlehamptoiij  where  the  carl  had  ap- 


pointed to  meet  the  captain  cf  lI:o 
vessel — a  Cathohc  man,  the  son  cf 
an  old  retainer  of  his  family-^ — with 
whom  he  had  dealt  for  the  hiring  of  :\ 
vessel  for  to  sail  to  France  as  soon 
as  the  wind  should  prove  favorable. 
Whilst  they  were  gone  upon  this  busi- 
ness. Lady  Arundel  and  I  sat  in  the 
chamber  which  looked  into  the  court, 
making  such  simple  preparations  as 
would  escape  notice  for  our  wedding, 
and  the  departure  which  should  speed- 
ily afterward  ensue. 

"  I  will  not  yield  thee,"  her  lady- 
ship said,  "  to  be  married  except  in 
a  white  dress  and  veil,  which  I  shall 
hide  jn  a  chamber  nigh  unto  the  ora- 
tory, where  I  myself  will  attire  thee, 
dear  love ;  and  see,  this  morning 
early  I  went  out  alone  into  the  garden 
and  gathered  this  store  of  rosemar}", 
for  to  make  thee  a  nosegay  to  wear  in 
thy  bosom.  Father  Southwell  saith 
it  is  used  at  weddings  for  an  emblem 
of  fidelity.  If  so,  who  should  have 
so  good  a  right  to  it  as  my  Constance 
and  her  Basil  ?  But  I  will  lay  it  up 
in  a  casket,  which  shall  conceal  it  the 
while,  and  aid  to  retain  the  scent 
thereof." 

"  0  dear  lady,"  I  cried,  seizing  her 
hands,  "do  you  remember  the  day 
when  you  plucked  rosemary  in  our 
old  garden  at  Sherwood,  and  smiling, 
said  to  me,  '  This  meaneth  remem- 
brance?' Since  it  signifieth  fidelity 
also,  well  should  you  affection  it ;  for 
where  shall  be  found  one  so  faithful 
in  love  and  friendship  as  you  ?" 

"  Weep  not,"  she  said,  pressing  her 
fingers  on  her  eyelids  to  stay  her  own 
tears.  "  We  must  needs  thank  God 
and  be  joyful  on  the  eve  of  thy  wed- 
ding-day ;  and  I  am  resolved  to  meet 
my  lord  also  Avith  a  cheerful  counte- 
nance, so  that  not  in  gloom  but  in 
hope  he  shall  leave  his  native  land." 

1\\  converse  such  as  this  the  hours 
went  swiftly  by.  Sometimes  we  talk- 
ed of  the  past,  its  many  strange  haps 
and  changes  ;  sometimes  of  the  future, 
forecasting  the  manner  of  our  lives 
abroad,  where  in  safety,  albeit  in  pov- 
erty, we  hoped  to  spend  our  days.    In 


Constance  SJicrwood. 


257 


{lie  fiftcrncon  lliere  arrLvedat  llio  cac^ 
tic  my  Lord  Wiiliam  Howard  and  his 
wife  and  Lady  Margaret  Sackvillc, 
who,  having  notice  of  Iheir  brother's 
intent  to  go  beyond  season  the  next 
(lay,  if  it  should  be  possible,  had  come 
ibr  to  bid  him  farewell. 

Leaving  Lady  Arundel  in  their 
company,  I  went  to  the  terrace  vmder- 
rx'ath  the  walls  of  the  castle,  and 
there  paced  up  and  down,  chewing 
the  cud  of  both  sw^eet  and  sad  memo- 
ries. I  looked  at  the  soft  blue  sky 
and  fleecy  clouds,  urged  along  by  a 
westerly  breeze  imj)regnated  with  a 
salt  savor ;  on  the  emerald  green  of 
the  fields,  the  graceful  forms  of  the 
leafless  trees  on  the  opposite  hills,  on 
the  cattle  peacefully  resting  by  the 
river-side.  I  listed  to  the  rustling  of 
llic  wind  amongst  the  bare  branches 
over  mine  head,  and  the  bells  of  a 
('Imrch  ringing  far  off  in  the  valley. 
''  O  England,  mine  ow^n  England, 
my  fair  native  land — am  I  to  leave 
ihee,  never  to  return?"  I  cried, speak- 
i:ig  aloud,  as  if  to  ease  my  oppressed 
lieart.  Then  mine  eyes  rested  on  the 
ruined  hospital  of  the  town,  the  shut- 
uj)  churches,  the  profaned  sanctuaries, 
;i:id  thought  flying  beyond  the  seas 
to  a  Catholic  land,  I  exclaimed,  "  The 
,;[)arrow  shall  find  herself  a  house, 
'  cind  the  turtle-dove  a  nest  for  herself 
— the  altars  of  the  Lord  of  hosts,  my 
king  and  my  God." 

When  Basil  returned,  he  told  me 
(hat  the  vessel  which  was  to  take  us 
to  France  was  lying  out  at  sea  near 
the  coast.  Lord  Arundel  and  himself 
had  gone  in  a  boat  to  speak  with  the 
captain,  who  did  seem  a  particular 
honest  man  and  zealous  Catholic ; 
and  the  earl  had  bespoken  some  need- 
ful accommodation  for  Mistress  Mar- 
tingale, he  said,  smiling;  not  very 
commodious,  indeed,  but  as  good  as  on 
board  the  like  craft  could  be  expected. 
If  the  wind  remained  in  the  same 
quarter  in  the  afternoon  of  the  mor- 
vo\Y,  we  should  then  sail ;  if  it  should 
change,  so  as  to  be  most  unfavorable, 
I  he  captain  should  send  private  no- 
tice of  it  to  the  castle. 


The  whole  of  that  evening  the  carl 
spent  in  writing  a  letter  to  her  majes- 
ty. He  feared  that  his  enemies,  after 
his  departure,  would,  by  their  slander- 
ous reports,  endeavor  to  disgrace  him 
with  the  people,  and  cause  the  queen 
to  have  sinister  surmises  of  him.  He 
confided  this  letter  to  the  Lady  Mar- 
garet, his  sister,  to  be  delivered  unto 
her  after  his  arrival  in  France ;  by 
which  it  might  appear,  both  to  her 
and  all  others,  what  were  the  true 
causes  wdiich  had  moved  him  to  under- 
take that  resolution. 

I  do  often  think  of  that  evening  in 
the  great  chamber  of  the  castle — the 
young  earl  in  the  vigorous  strength 
and  beauty  of  manhood,  his  comely 
and  fair  face  now  bending  over  his 
writing,  now  raised  w^th  a  noble  and 
manly  grief,  as  he  read  aloud  portions 
of  it,  which,  methinks,  would  have 
touched  any  hearts  to  hear  them  ;  and 
how  much  the  more  that  loving  wife, 
that  affectionate  sister,  that  faithful 
brother,  those  devoted  friends  which 
seemed  to  be  in  some  sort  witnesses  of 
his  last  will  before  a  final  parting! 
I  mind  me  of  the  sorrowful,  dove-hkc 
sweetness  of  Lady  Arundel's  counte- 
nance; the  flashing  eyes  of  Lady 
Margaret;  the  loving  expression, 
veiled  by  a  studied  hardness,  of  Lord 
William's  face  ;  of  his  wife  ray  Lady 
Bess's  reddening  cheek  and  tearful 
eyes,  which  she  did  conceal  behind 
the  coif  of  her  childish  namesake  sit- 
ting on  her  knees.  When  he  had 
finished  his  letter,  with  a  somewhat 
moved  voice  the  carl  read  the  last 
passages  thereof:  "  If  my  protesta- 
tion, who  never  told  your  majesty  any 
untruth,  may  carry  credit  in  your 
opinion,  I  here  call  God  and  his  an- 
gels to  witness  that  I  would  not  have 
taken  this  course  if  I  might-  have 
stayed  in  England  without  danger  of 
my  soul  or  peril  of  my  life.  I  am 
enforced  to  forsake  my  country,  to 
forget  my  friends,  to  leave  my  wife, 
to  lose  the  hope  of  all  worldly  pleas- 
ures and  earthly  commodities.  All: 
this  is  so  grievous  to  flesh  and  blood,, 
that  I  could   not  desire  to  live   if  L 


258 


Constance  Sliericood. 


were  r.ot  comCoricd  willi  the  remem- 
brance of  his  mercy  for  t\hom  1  en- 
dure all  this,  who  endured  ten  tliou- 
sand  times  more  for  me.  Therefore 
I  remain  in  assured  hope  that  myself 
and  my  cause  shall  receive  that  favor, 
conceit,  and  rightful  construction  at 
your  majesty's  hands  which  I  may 
.justly  challenge.  I  do  humbly  crave 
pardon  for  my  long  and  tedious  letter, 
which  the  v/cightiness  of  the  matter 
enforced  mo  unto ;  and  I  beseech 
God  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  to 
send  your  majesty  as  great  happiness 
as  I  wish  to  mine  own  soul.'' 

A  time  of  silence  followed  the  read- 
ing of  these  sentences,  and  then  the 
earl  said  in  a  cheerful  manner  : 

"  So,  good  Meg,  I  commit  this  pro- 
testation to  thy  good  keeping.  When 
thou  hearcst  of  my  safe  arrival  in 
France,  then  straightway  see  to  have 
it  placed  in  the  queen's  hands." 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent 
in  affectionate  converse  by  these  near 
kinsfolk.  Basil  and  I  repaired  the 
while  by  the  secret  passage  to  Father 
Southwell's  chamber,  where  we  were 
in  turn  shriven,  and  afterward  re- 
ceived fi'oni  him  such  good  counsel 
and  rules  of  conduct  as  he  deemed 
fitting  for  married  persons  to  observe. 
Before  I  left  him,  this  good  father 
gave  me,  w^rit  in  his  own  hand,  some 
sweet  verses  which  he  had  that  day 
composed  for  us,  and  wdiich  I  do  here 
transcribe.  He,  smiling,  said  he  had 
made  mention  of  fishes  in  his  poem, 
for  to  pleasure  so  famous  an  angler  as 
Basil ;  and  of  birds,  for  that  he  knew 
me  to  be  a  great  lover  of  these  soaring 
creatures : 


■The lopped  tree  in  tiino  may  growai:ain. 
Most    naked    plants    renew  both  fruit    and 

llower ; 
The  Horent  wiplit  may  find  release  of  pain, 
tIic    driest  soil    Bu'ck  in  Bomc    moisteninLj 

Hli'ov/er ; 
Times  jro  hy  turn,  and   chances  change  l)y 

conr»»e. 
From  fonl  to  f.ilr,  from  better  hap  to  -worse. 

The  pca  of  fortune  dofh  not  over  flow, 
She  draws  licr  favors  to  the  lowest  ebb  ; 
ITer  time  hath  equal  times  to  come  and  po, 
llcr  loom  doth  weave  the  fine  and  coarsest 

web  ; 
No  joy  3o  prcnt  but  runneth  to  nn  end, 
No  hap  so  hard  but  may  in  Cue  amend. 


A  chance  may  win  that  by  mischance  was  lost. 
'J'he  well  that  holds  no  great,  takes  little  ilsh  ; 
In  some  things  all,    iu  all  things  none  are 

crossed, 
Few  all  they  need,  but  none  have  all  they 

wish; 
Unmeddled  joys  here  to  no  man  befal. 
Who  least  have  some,  who  moat  have  never 

all. 

Not  alwaj's  fall  of  leaf,  nor  ever  spring ; 
No  endless  night,  yet  not  eternal  day ; 
The  saddest  birds  a  season  find  to  sing  ; 
The  roughest  storm  a  calm  may  soon  allay  ; 
Thus  with  succeeding  turns  God  tempereth 

all. 
That  man  may  hope  to  rise,  yet  fear  to  fall." 


The  common  sheet  of  paper  which 
doth  contain  this  his  writing  hath  a 
greater  value  in  mine  eyes  than  the 
most  rich  gift  that  can  be  thought  of. 

On  the  next  morning,  Lady  Arun- 
del conducted  me  from  mine  own 
chamber,  first  into  a  room  where  with 
her  own  hands  she  arrayed  me  in  my 
bridal  dress,  and  with  many  tender 
kisses  and  caresses,  such  as  a  sister  or 
a  mother  would  bestow,  testified  her 
affection  for  her  poor  friend ;  and 
thence  to  the  oratory,  where  the  altar 
was  prepared,  and  by  herself  in  se- 
cret decked  with  early  primroses, 
which  had  begun  to  show  in  the  woods 
and  neath  the  hedges.  A  small  but 
noble  company  w^ere  gathered  round 
us  that  day.  From  pure  and  holy 
lips  the  Church's  benison  came  to  us. 
The  vows  we  exchanged  have  been 
faithftdly  observed,  and  long  years 
have  set  a  seal  on  the  promises  then 
made. 

Basil's  wife !  Oh,  what  a  whole 
compass  of  happiness  did  lie  in  those 
two  words !  Yea,  the  waves  of  the 
sea  might  now  rage  and  i\\Q  winds 
blow.  The  haven  might  be  distant 
and  the  way  thither  insecure.  Man's  en- 
mity or  accident  might  yet  rob  us  each 
of  the  other's  visible  presence.  But 
naught  could  now  sever  the  cord, 
ctrong  like  unto  a  cable  chain,  whicli 
bound  our  soul^  in  one.  Anchored  in 
that  -vveddcd  unity,  which  is  one  of 
God's  fc'.acraments,  till  death,  ay,  and 
beyond  death  also,  this  tic  should  las-. 

\Yq.  have  been  young,  and  now  arc 
old.  We  have  lost  country,  home, 
and  almost  every  friend  known  and 
affectloncd  in  our   young  years;  but 


Constance  Sherwood. 


2';9 


that  deepest,  holiest  love,  the  type  of 
Christ's  union  with  his  Church,  still 
doth  shed  its  light  over  the  evening 
of  life.  My  dear  Basil,  I  am  assured, 
thinks  me  as  fair  as  when  we  did  sit 
together  fishing  on  the  banks  of  the 
Ouse ;  and  his  hoary  head  and  with- 
ered cheeks  are  more  lovely  in  mine 
eyes  than  ever  were  his  auburn  locks 
and  ruddy  complexion.  One  of  us 
must  needs  die  before  the  other,  un- 
less we  should  be  so  happy  that  that 
good  should  befal  us  as  to  end  our 
days  as  two  aged  married  persons  I 
have  heard  of.  It  was  the  husband's 
custom,  as  soon  as  ever  he  unclosed 
his  eyes,  to  ask  his  wife  how  she  did ; 
but  one  night,  he  being  in  a  deep 
sleep,  she  quietly  departed  toward  the 
morning.  He  was  that  day  to  have 
gone  out  a-hunting,  and  it  was  his  cus- 
tom to  have  his  chaplain  pray  with 
him  before  he  went  out.  The  women, 
fearful  to.  surprise  him  with  the  ill 
news,  had  stolen  out  and  acquainted  the 
chaplain,  desiring  him  to  inform  him 
of  it.  But  the  gentleman  waking  did 
not  on  that  day,  as  was  his  custom, 
ask  for  his  wife,  but  called  his  chap- 
lain to  prayers,  and,  joining  with  him, 
in  the  midst  of  the  prayer  expired, 
and  both  were  buried  in  the  same 
grave.  Methinks  this  should  be  a 
very  desirable  end,  only,  if  it  pleased 
God,  I  would  wish  to  have  the  last 
sacraments,  and  then  to  die  just  before 
Basil,  when  his  time  cometh.  But 
God  knoweth  best ;  and  any  ways  we 
are  so  old  and  so  near  of  an  age,  one 
cannot  tarry  very  long  behind  when 
the  other  is  gone. 

Being  at  rest  after  our  marriage 
touching  what  concerned  ourselves, 
compassion  for  Lady  Arundel  filled  our 
hearts.  Alas  !  how  bravely  and  how 
sweetly  she  bore  this  parting  grief. 
Her  intense  love  for  her  lord,  and 
sorrow  at  their  approaching  separa- 
tion, struggled  v;ith  her  resolve  not  to 
sadden  their  last  hours,  which  were 
prolonged  beyond  expectancy.  For 
3ncn  c:i  that  day,  and  twice  on  that 
v/liich  foilovt'cd,  v/lieii  rJl  was  made 
ready  rci"  cTopr.i-jr.rc,  n  iricssago  came 


from  the  captain  for  to  say  the  wind, 
and  another  time  the  tide,  would  not 
serve  ;  and  albeit  each  time,  like  a  re- 
prieved person.  Lady  Arundel  wel- 
comed the  delay,  methinks  these  re- 
tardments served  to  increase  her  suf- 
ferings. Little  Bess  hung  fondly  on 
her  father's  neck  the  last  time  he  re- 
turned from  Littlehampton  with  the 
tidings  the  vessel  would  not  sail  fcr 
some  hours,  kissing  his  face  and  play- 
ing with  his  beard. 

"  Ah,  dearest  Phil !"  her  mother 
cried,  "  the  poor  babe  rejoiceth  in  the 
sight  of  thee,  all  unwitting  in  her  in- 
nocent glee  of  the  shortness  of  this 
joy.  Ilowsoever,  methinks  five  or 
six  hours  of  it  is  a  boon  for  to  thank 
God  for  ;"  and  so  putting  her  arm  in 
his,  she  led  him  away  to  a  solitar}' 
part  of  the  garden,  where  they  walk- 
ed to  and  fro,  she,  as  she  hath  since 
written  to  me,  starting  each  time  the 
clock  did  strike,  like  one  doomed  to 
execution.  Methinks  there  was  this 
diiference  betv/een  them,  that  he  was 
full  of  hope  and  bright  forecastings  of 
a  speedy  reunion  ;  but  on  her  soul  lay 
a  dead,  mournful  despondency,  which 
she  hid  by  an  apparent  calmness. 
When,  late  in  the  evening,  a  third 
message  came  for  to  say  the  ship 
could  not  depart  that  night,  I  begun 
to  think  it  would  never  go  at  all.  I 
saw  Basil  looked  at  the  weathercock 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  the 
same  thought  was  in  his  mind.  But 
Avlien  I  spake  of  it,  he  said  seafaring 
folks  had  a  knowledge  in  these  mat- 
ters which  others  did  not  possess,  and 
we  must  needs  be  patient  under 
these  delays.  Howsoever,  at  thrce 
o'clock  in  the  morning  the  shipman 
signified  that  the  wind  was  fit  and  all 
in  readiness.  So  \yc  rose  in  haste 
and  prepared  for  to  depart.  The 
countess  put  her  arms  about  my  neck, 
and  this  was  the  last  embrace  I  ever 
had  of  her.  My  lord's  brother  and 
sisters  hung  about  him  awhile  in  great 
grief.  Then  his  wife  put  out  her 
hands  to  him,  and,  with  a  sorrow  too 
deep  for  speech,  fixed  her  eyes  on  his 
visasre. 


26o 


Constance  Sherwood. 


"  Cheer  up,  sweetest  wife,"  I  heard 
liim  saj.  "Albeit  nature  suffers  in 
this  severance  from  my  native  land, 
my  true  home  shall  be  wherever  it 
shall  please  God  to  bring  thee  and  me 
and  our  children  together.  God  de- 
fend the  loss  of  this  world's  good 
.^.liould  make  us  sad,  if  we  be  but 
once  so  blessed  as  to  meet  again 
where  we  may  freely  serve  him." 

Then,  after  a  long  and  tender  clasp- 
ing of  her  to  his  breast,  he  tore  him- 
self away  and  getting  on  a  horse  rode 
to  the  coast.  Basil  and  I,  with  Mr. 
William  Bray  and  Mr.  Burlace,  drove 
in  a  coach  to  the  port.  It  was  yet 
dark,  and  a  heavy  mist  hung  on  the 
valley.  Folks  were  yet  abed,  and 
the  shutters  of  the  houses  closed,  as 
we  went  down  the  hill  through  the 
town.  After  crossing  the  bridge  over 
the  Arun  the  air  felt  cold  and  chill. 
At  the  steep  ascent  near  Leominster 
I  put  my  head  out  of  the  window  for 
t'j  look  once  more  at  the  castle,  but 
the  fog  was  too  thick.  At  the  port 
the  coach  stopped,  and  a  boat  was 
found  waiting  for  us.  Lord  Arundel 
was  seated  in  it,  with  his  face  muffled 
i:i  a  cloak.  The  savor  of  the  sea  air 
revived  my  spirits ;  and  when  the 
l)oat  moved  off,  and  I  felt  the  waves 
lifting  it  briskly,  and  with  my  hand 
in  Basil's  I  looked  on  the  land  we 
were  leading,  and  then  on  the  watery 
world  before  us,  a  singular  emotion 
filled  my  soul,  as  if  it  was  some  sort 
of  death  was  happening  to  me — a  dy- 
ing to  the  past,  a  gliding  on  to  an  un- 
known future  on  a  pathless  ocean, 
rocked  peacefully  in  the  arms  of  his 
sheltering  love,  even  as  this  little  bark 
which  carried  us  along  was  lifted  up 
and  caressed  by  the  waves  of  the 
deep  sea. 

When  we  reached  the  vessel  the 
day  was  dawning.  The  sun  soon 
emerged  from  a  bank  of  clouds,  and 
threw  its  first  light  on  the  rippling 
waters.  A  favoring  wind  filled  our 
cails,  and  like  a  bird  on  the  wing  the 
ship  bouirled  on  its  way  till  the  flat 
shore  at  Littlehampton  and  the  far- 
oST  wliite  cliffs  to  the  eastward  were 


well-nigh  lost  sight  of.  Lord  Arundel 
stood  with  Basil  on  the  narrow  deck, 
gazing  at  the  receding  coast. 

"  How  sweet  the  air  doth  blow 
from  England !"  he  said  ;  "  how  blue 
the  sky  doth  appear  to-day !  and  those 
saucy  seagulls  how  free  and  happy 
they  do  look !"  Then  he  noticed 
some  fishing-boats,  and  with  a  tele- 
scope he  had  in  his  hand  discerned  va- 
rious ships  very  far  off.  Afterw^ard 
he  came  and  sat  down  by  my  side, 
and  spoke  in  a  cheerful  manner  of 
his  wife  and  the  simple  home  he  de- 
signed for  her  abroad.  "  Some  years 
ago,  Mistress  Constance,"  he  said — 
and  then  smiling,  added,  "  My  tongue 
is  not  yet  used  to  call  you  Mistress 
Rookwood — when  my  sweet  Nan,  al- 
beit a  wife,  was  yet  a  simple  child, 
she  was  wont  to  say,  '  Phil,  would  we 
were  farmers !  You  would  plougli 
the  fields  and  cut  wood  in  the  forest, 
and  I  should  milk  the  cows  and  feed 
the  poultry.'  Well^  methinks  her 
wish  may  yet  come  to  pass.  In  Brit- 
tany or  Normandy  some  little  home- 
stead should  shelter  us,  where  Bess 
shall  roll  on  the  grass  and  gather  the 
fallen  apples,  and  on  Sundays  put  on 
her  bravest  clothes  for  to  go  to  mass. 
What  tliink  yo:i  thereof,  Mistress 
Constance  ?  and  who  knoweth  but 
you  and  your  good  husband  may  also 
dwell  in  the  same  village,  and  some 
ciirhteen  or  twenty  years  hence  a  gay 
wedding  for  to  take  place  betwixt  one 
Master  Rookwood  and  one  Lady  Ann 
or  Margaret  Howard,  or  my  Loi'd 
Maltravers  with  one  Mistress  Con- 
stance or  Muriel  Rookwood?  And 
on  the  green  on  such  a  day.  Nan  and 
Basil  and  you  and  I  should  lead  the 
brawls." 

"  Methinks,  my  lord,"  I  answered, 
smiling,  "  you  do  forecast  too  great  a 
condescension  on  your  part,  and  too 
much  ambition  on  our  side,  in  the 
planning  of  such  a  union." 

"Well,  well,"  he  said;  "if  your 
good  husband  carrieth  not  beyond 
seas  with  him  the  best  earl's  title  in 
England,  I'll  warrant  you  in  God's 
si":ht   he    wcareth  a  higher   one   far 


Constance  Sherwood. 


26 1 


away — the  merit  of  an  unstained  life 
and  constant  nobility  of  action  ;  and  I 
■  promise  you,  beside,  he  will  be  the 
better  farmer  of  the  twain  ;  so  that  in 
the  matter  of  tocher.  Mistress  Rook- 
wood  should  exceed  my  Lady  Bess  or 
Ann  Howard." 

With  such-like  talk  as  this  time 
was  whiled  away;  and  whilst  we 
were  yet  conversing  I  noticed  that 
Basil  spoke  often  to  the  captain  and 
looked  for  to  be  watching  a  ship  yet 
at  some  distance,  but  which  seemed  to 
be  gaining  on  us.  Lord  Arundel,  per- 
ceiving it,  then  also  joined  them,  and 
inquired  what  sort  of  craft  it  should 
be.  The  captain  professed  to  be  igno- 
rant thereof;  and  when  Basil  said  it 
looked  like  a  small  ship-of-war,  and  as 
there  were  many  dangerous  pirates 
about  the  Channel  it  should  be  well 
to  guard  against  it,  he  assented  there- 
to, and  said  he  was  prepared  for  de- 
fence. 

"  With  such  unequal  means,"  Basil 
replied,  "  as  it  is  like  we  should  bring 
to  a  contest,  speed  should  serve  us 
better  than  defence." 

"  But,"  quoth  Lord  Arundel,  "  she 
is,  'tis  plain,  a  swifter  sailer  than  this 
one  we  are  in.  God's  will  be  done, 
but  'tis  a  heavy  misfortune  if  a  pirate 
at  this  time  do  attack  us,  and  so  few 
moneys  with  us  for  to  spare  !" 

Now  none  of  our  eyes  could  detach 
themselves  from,  this  pursuing  vessel. 
The  captain  eluded  further  talk,  on 
pretence  for  to  give  orders  and  move 
some  guns  he  had  aboard  on  deck ; 
but  it  was  vain  for  to  think  of  a  hand- 
ful of  men  untrained  to  sea-warfare 
encountering  a  superior  force,  such  as 
this  ship  must  possess,  if  its  designs 
should  be  hostile.  As  it  moved  nigh- 
er  to  us,  we  could  perceive  it  to  be 
well  manned  and  armed.  And  the 
captain  then  exclaimed : 

"  'Tis  Keloway's  ship !" 

This  man  was  of  a  notorious,  infa- 
mous life,  well  known  for  his  sea-rob- 
beries and  depredations  in  the  Chan- 
nel. 

"  God  yield,"  murmured  the  earl, 
"  he  shall  content   himself  with   the 


small  sum  we  can  deliver  to  him  and 
not  stay  us  any  further." 

A  moment  afterward  we  were 
boarded  by  this  man,  who,  with  his 
crew,  thrice  as  numerous  as  ours  and 
armed  to  the  teeth,  comes  on  our  deck 
and  takes  possession  of  the  ship. 
Straightway  he  walks  to  the  earl  and 
tells  him  he  doth  know  him,  and  had 
watched  his  embarkation,  being  re- 
solved to  follow  him  and  exact  a 
good  ransom  at  his  hands,  which  if  he 
would  pay  without  contention,  he 
should  himself,  without  further  stop 
or  stay,  pass  liim  and  his  two  gentle- 
men into  France,  adding,  he  should 
take  no  less  from  him  than  one  hund- 
red pounds. 

"  I  have  not  so  much,  or  near  unto 
it,  with  me,"  Lord  Arundel  said. 

"  But  you  can  write  a  word  or  two 
to  any  friend  of  yours  from  whom  I 
may  receive  it,"  quoth  Keloway. 

"Well,"  said  the  earl,  "  seeing  I 
have  pressing  occasion  for  to  go  to 
France,  and  would  not  be  willingly 
delayed,  I  must  needs  consent  to  your 
terms,  no  choice  therein  being  allowed 
me.  Get  me  some  paper,"  he  said  to 
Mr.  William  Bray. 

"  Should  this  be  prudent,  my  lord  ?" 
Basil  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"There  is  no  help  for  it,  Master 
Rookwood,"  the  earl  replied.  "  Be- 
side, there  is  honor  even  amongst 
thieves.  Once  secure  of  his  money, 
this  man  hath  no  interest  in  detaining 
us,  but  rather  the  contrary." 

And  without  further  stopping,  he 
hastily  wrote  a  few  lines  to  his  sister 
the  Lady  Margaret  Sackville,  in  Lon- 
don, that  she  should  speak  to  Mr. 
Bridges,  alias  Grately,  a  priest,  to 
give  one  hundred  pounds  to  the  bear- 
er thereof,  by  the  token  that  was  be- 
tween them,  that  Hack  is  tohite,  and 
withal  assured  her  that  he  now  cer- 
tainly hoped  to  have  speedy  passage 
without  impediment.  As  soon  as  this 
paper  was  put  into  Kelloway's  hand, 
he  read  it,  and  immediately  called  0.1 
his  men  for  to  arrest  the  Earl  cf 
Arundel,  producing  an  order  fro.i 
the    queen's  council  for  to  prove  I13 


262 


Constance  Sherwood. 


was  appointed  to  v/atcli  there  for  him, 
and  carry  him  back  again  to  land 
where  her  majesty's  officers  did  await 
him. 

An  indescribable  anguish  seized 
my  heart;  an  overwhelming  grief, 
such  as  methinks  no  other  event, 
howsoever  sad  or  tragical,  or  yet  more 
nearly  touching  me,  had  ever  wrought 
in  my  soul,  which  I  ascribe  to  a  pre- 
sentiment that  this  should  be  the  first 
link  of  that  long  chain  of  woes  which 
was  to  follow. 

"  O,  my  lord  !"  I  exclaimed,  almost 
falling  at  his  feet,  "  God  help  you  to 
bear  this  too  heavy  blow  !" 

He  took  me  by  the  hand ;  and 
never  till  I  die  shall  I  lose  the  mem- 
ory of  the  sweet  serenity  and  noble 
steadfastness  of  his  visage  in  this  try- 
ing hour. 

"  God  willeth  it,"  he  gently  said ; 
'•  his  holy  will  be  done  !  He  will  work 
good  oat  of  what  seemeth  evil  to  us." 
And  then  gaily  added,  "  We  had 
thought  to  travel  the  same  v/ay  ;  now 
we  must  needs  journey  apart.  Never 
fear,  good  friends,  but  both  roads  shall 
ioad  to  heaven,  if  we  do  but  tread 
them  piously.  My  chief  sorrov.^  is  for 
Isan ;"  but  her  virtue  is  so  great,  that 
affliction  will  never  rob  her  of  such 
peace  as  God  only  giveth." 

Then  this  angelic  man,  forecasting 
for  his  friends  in  the  midst  of  this  ter- 
rible mishap,  passed  into  Basil's  hands 
his  pocket-book,  and  said,  "This  shall 
pay  your  voyage,  good  friend  ;  and  if 
aught  doth  remain  afterward,  let  the 
poor  have  their  share  of  it,  for  a 
thank-offering,  when  you  reach  the 
shore  in  safety." 

Basil,  I  saw,  could  not  speak ;  his 
heart  was  too  full.  O,  what  a  parting 
ensued  on  that  sad  ocean  whose  waves 
had  seemed  to  dance  so  joyously  a 
short  space  before  !  With  what  ach- 
ing hearts  we  pressed  the  young  earl'a 
hand,  and  watched  him  pass  into  tiic 
other  ship,  accompanied  by  his  tv/o 
giHilemcn,  which  were  with  him  ar- 
ie?teJ  !  No  heed  was  taken  of  us  ; 
;:n  1  Kelloway,  having  secured  his 
prey,  abandoned  our  vessel,  the  cap- 


tain of  which  seemed  uneasy  and  ill- 
disposed  to  speak  with  us.  We  did 
then  suspect,  which  doubt  hath  been- 
since  confirmed,  that  this  seeming 
honest  Catholic  man  had  acted  a  trai- 
tor's part,  and  that  those  many  delays 
had  been  used  for  the  very  purpose  of 
staying  Lord  Arundel  until  such  time 
as  all  was  prepared  for  his  capture. 
The  wind,  which  was  in  our  favor, 
bore  us  swiftly  tov»^ard  the  French 
coast ;  and  we  soon  lost  sight  of  the 
vessel  which  carried  the  earl  back  to 
the  shores  of  England.  Fancy,  you 
who  read,  what  pictures  we  needs 
must  then  have  formed  of  that  return  ; 
of  the  dismal  news  reaching  the  af- 
flicted wife,  the  sad  sister,  the  mourn- 
ful brother,  and  friends  now  scattered 
apart,  so  lately  clustered  round  him ! 
Alas  !  when  we  landed  in  France,  at 
the  port  of  Calais,  the  sense  of  our 
own  safety  was  robbed  of  half  its  joy 
by  fears  and  sorrowing  for  the  dear 
friends  whose  fortunes  have  proved 
so  dissimilar  to  our  own. 


CHAPTEIl  XXVIII. 

The  deep  clear  azure  of  the  French 
sky,  the  lightsome  pure  air,  the  quaint 
houses,  and  outlandish  dresses  of  the 
people  in  Calais  ;  the  sound  of  a  for- 
eign tongue  understood,  but  not  fami- 
liar, for  a  brief  time  distracted  my 
mind  from  painful  themes.  Basil  led 
ir.e  to  the  church  for  to  give  thanks  to 
God  for  his  mercies  to  us,  and  mostly 
did  it  seem  strange  to  me  to  enter  an 
edifice  in  which  he  is  worshipped  in 
a  Catholic  manner,  which  yet  hath  the 
form  and  appearance  of  a  church,  and 
resembles  not  the  concealed  chambers 
in  our  country  wherein  mass  is  said ; 
an  open  visible  house  for  the  King  of 
kings,  not  a  hiding-place,  as  in  Eng- 
land, After  we  had  prayed  there  0. 
short  time,  Basil  put  into  a  box  at  the 
entrance  the  money  which  Lord 
Ainindel  had  designed  for  tlie  poor. 
A  pale  thin  man  stood  at  the  door, 
vrliich,  v.-beii  v/c  passed,  said,  "  God 


Constance  Sherwood. 


263 


bless  you !"  Basil  looked  earnestly 
at  him,  and  then  exclaimed,  "As  I 
live,  Mr.  Watson  1"  "  Yea,"  the  good 
man  answered,  "  the  same,  or  rather 
the  shadow  of  the  same,  risen  at  the 
last  from  the  bed  of  sickness.  O  Mr. 
liookwood,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  !" 
"  And  so  am  I  to  meet  with  you,  Mr. 
Watson,"  Basil  answered ;  and  then 
told  this  dear  friend  who  I  was,  and 
the  sad  hap  of  Lord  Arundel,  which 
moved  in  him  a  great  concern  for  that 
young  nobleman  and  his  excellent 
lady.  Many  tokens  of  regard  and  in- 
terchange of  information  passed  be- 
tween ug.  He  showed  us  where  he 
lived,  in  a  small  cottage  near  unto  the 
ramparts  ;  and  nothing  would  serve 
him  but  to  gather  for  me  in  the  gar- 
den a  nosegay  of  early  flowerets  which 
just  had  raised  their  heads  above  tlie 
sod.  He  said  Dr.  Allen  had  sent 
him  money  in  his  sickness,  and  an 
English  lady  married  to  a  French 
l>entleman  provided  for  his  wants. 
"  Ah !  that  was  the  good  madame  I 
told  you  of,"  Basil  cried,  turning  to 
me  ;    "  who  would  have  harbored     . 

"     Then  he  stopped  short ; 

but  Mr.  Watson  had  caught  his  mean- 
ing, and  with  tears  in  his  eyes  said : 
"  Fear  not  to  speak  of  her  whose 
death  bought  my  life,  and  it  may  be 
also  my  soul's  safety.  For,  God 
knoweth,  the  thought  of  her  doth 
never  forsake  me  so  much  as  for  one 
hour ;"  and  thereupon  we  parted  with 
much  kindness  on  both  sides.  That 
night  we  lay  at  a  small  hostelry  in  the 
town  ;  and  the  next  morning  hired  a 
cart  with  one  horse,  which  carried  us 
to  Boulogne  in  one  day,  and  thence  to 
this  village,  where  we  have  lived  since 
for  many  years  in  great  peace,  I 
thank  God,  and  very  much  content- 
ment of  mind,  and  no  regrets  save 
such  as  do  arise  in  the  hearts  of  exiles 
without  hope  of  return  to  a  beloved 
native  country. 

The  awaiting  of  tidings  from  Eng- 
land, which  were  long  delayed,  was  at 
tiie  first  a  very  sore  trial,  and  those 
which  reached  us  at  last  yet  more 
grievous   than   that   suspense.     Lord 


Arundel  committed  to  the  Tower  ;  his 
brother  the  Lord  William  and  his  sis- 
ter the  Lady  Margaret  not  long  after 
arrested,  which  was  more  grief  to 
him,  his  lady  wrote  to  me,  than  all 
his  own  troubles  and  imprisonment. 
But,  O  my  God !  how  well  did  that 
beginning  match  with  what  was  to  fol" 
low!  Those  ten  years  which  were 
spent  amidst  so  many  suflerings  of  all 
sorts  by  tliese  two  noble  persons,  that 
the  recital  of  them  would  move  to  pity 
the  most  strong  heart. 

Mine  own  sorrows,  leastways  all 
sharp  ones,  ended  with  ray  passage 
into  France.  If  Basil  showed  himself 
a  worthy  lover,  he  hath  proved  a  yet 
better  husband.  His  nature  doth  so 
delight  in  doing  good  that  it  wins  him 
the  love  of  all  our  neighbors.  His 
life  is  a  constant  exercise  of  charity. 
He  is  most  indulgent  to  his  wife  and 
kind  to  his  children,  of  which  it  hath 
pleased  God  to  give  him  three — one 
boy  and  two  girls,  of  as  comely  vis- 
ages and  commendable  dispositions  as 
can  reas-onably  be  desired.  He  hath 
a  most  singular  affection  for  all  such 
as  do  suffer  for  their  religion,  and 
cherishes  them  with  an  extraordinary 
bounty  to  the  limits  of  his  abihty  ;  his 
house  being  a  common  resort  for  all 
banished  Catholics  which  land  at  Bou- 
logne, from  whence  he  doili  direct 
them  to  such  persons  as  can  assist 
them  in  their  need.  His  love  toward 
my  unworthy  self  hath  never  decreas- 
ed. Methinks  it  rather  doih  increase 
as  we  advance  in  years.  We  have 
ever  been  actuated  as  by  one  soul; 
and  never  have  any  two  wills  agreed 
so  well  as  Basil's  and  mine  in  all 
aims  in  this  world  and  hopes  for  the 
next.  If  any,  in  the  reading  of  this 
history,  have  only  cared  for  mine  own 
haps,  I  pray  them  to  end  their  peru- 
sal of  it  here;  but  if,  even  as  my 
heart  hath  been  linked  from  early 
years  with  Lady  Arundel's,  there  be 
any  in  which  my  poor  writing  hath 
awakened  somewhat  of  that  esteem  for 
her  virtues  and  resentment  of  her 
sorrows  whicn  hath  grown  in  me  from 
long  experience  of  her  singular  worth; 


264 


Constance  Slier-wood. 


if  the  noble  atonement  for  youthful 
oifences  and  follies  already  shown  in 
her  lord's  return  to  his  duty  to  her, 
ard  altered  behavior  in  respect  to 
God,  hath  also  moved  them  to  desire 
a  further  knowledge  of  the  manner  in 
which  these  two  exalted  souls  were 
advanced  by  long  affliction  to  a  high 
point  of  perfection — then  to  such  the 
following  pages  shall  not  be  wholly 
devoid  of  that  interest  which  the  true 
recital  of  great  misfortune  doth  habit- 
ually carry  with  it.  If  none  other 
had  written  the  life  of  that  noble  lady, 
methinks  I  must  have  essayed  to  do  it ; 
but  having  heard  that  a  good  clergyman 
hath  taken  this  task  in  hand,  secretly 
preparing  materials  whilst  she  jet  lives 
wherewith  to  build  her  a  memorial  at 
a  future  time,  I  have  restrained  my- 
self to  setting  down  what,  by  means 
of  her  own  writing  or  the  reports  of 
others,  hath  reached  my  knowledge 
concerning  the  ten  years  which  fol- 
lowed my  last  parting  with  her. 
This  was  the  first  letter  I  received 
from  this  afflicted  lady  after  her  lord's 
arrest : 

"  O  Jir  DEAR  Fhisnd — What  days 
these  have  proved !  Believe  me,  I  nev- 
er looked  for  a  favorable  issue  of  this 
enterprise.  When  I  first  had  notice 
thereof,  a  notable  chill  fell  on  my  soul, 
which  never  Avarmed  again  wdth  hope. 
When  I  began  to  pray  after  hearing 
of  it,  I  had  what  methinks  the  holy 
Juliana  of  Norwich  (whose  cell  we 
did  once  visit  together,  as  I  doubt  not 
thou  dost  remember)  would  have  call- 
ed a  foreshowing,  or,  as  others  do  ex- 
press it,  a  presentiment  of  coming 
evil.  But  how  soon  the  effect  fol- 
lowed !  I  had  retired  to  rest  at  nine  of 
the  clock  ;  and  before  I  was  undress- 
ed Bertha  came  m  with  a  most  down- 
cast countenance.  '  What  news  is 
there?'  I  quickly  asked,  misdoubting 
some  misfortune  had  happened.  Then 
she  began  to  weep.  '  Is  my  lord 
taken?'  I  cried,  'or  worse  befallen 
him  ?'  *  He  is  taken,'  she  answered, 
*  and  is  now  being  carried  to  London 
for   to  be  committed  to  the   Tower. 


Master  Ealph,  the  port-master,  hath 
brought  the  news.  A  man,  an  hour 
ago,  had  reported  as  much  in  the 
town;  but  Mr.  Fawcett  would  not 
suffer  yoiu*  ladyship  to  be  told  of  it 
before  a  greater  certainty  thereof 
should  appear.  O  woe  be  the  day  my 
lord  ever  embarked  !'  Then  I  heard 
sounds  of  wailing  and  weeping  in  the 
gallery;  and  opening  the  door,  found 
Bessy's  nurse  and  some  other  of  the 
servants  lamenting  in  an  uncontrolled 
fashion.  I  could  not  shed  one  tear, 
but  gave  orders  they  should  fetch  un- 
to me  the  man  which  had  brought 
the  tidings.  From  liim  I  heard  more 
fully  what  had  happened ;  and  then, 
in  the  same  composed  manner,  de- 
sired my  coach  and  horses  for  to  be 
made  ready  to  take  me  to  London  the 
next  day  at  daybreak,  and  dismissed 
everybody,  not  suffering  so  much  as 
one  woman  to  sit  up  with  me.  When 
all  had  retired,  I  put  on  my  cloak  and 
hood ;  and  listing  first  if  all  was  quiet, 
w^ent  by  the  secret  passage  to  the 
chapel-room.  When  I  got  there.  Fa- 
ther Southwell  was  in  it,  saying  his 
office.  When  he  saw  me  enter  at  that 
unusual  hour,  methinks  the  truth  was 
made  known  to  him  at  once ;  for  he 
only  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  said : 
'  My  child,  this  would  be  too  hard  to 
bear  if  it  were  not  God's  sweet  will ; 
but  being  .  so,  what  remameth  but  to 
lie  still  under  a  Father's  merciful  in- 
fliction?'- and  then  he  took  out  the 
crucifix,  which  for  safety  was  locked 
up,  and  set  it  on  the  altar.  'Thai 
shall  speak  to  you  better  than  I  can/ 
ho  said  ;  and  verily  it  did ;  for  at  the 
sight  of  my  dying  Saviour  I  wept. 
The  whole  night  was  spent  in  devout 
exercises.  At  dawn  of  day  Father 
Southwell  said  mass,  and  I  received. 
Then,  before  any  one  was  astir,.  I  re- 
turned to  mine  own  chamber,  and,  ly- 
ing down  for  a  few  moments,  aftcr- 
v/ard  rung  the  bell,  and  ordered 
horses  to  be  procured  for  to  travel  to 
London,  whence  I  write  these  lines. 
I  have  here  heard  this  report  of  my 
dear  lord's  journey  from  one  which 
conversed   with    Sir   Geoi'ga     Carey, 


Constance  Sherwood. 


265 


who  commanded  the  guard  which  con- 
ducted him,  that  he  was  nothing  at  all 
daunted  with  so  unexpected  a  misfor- 
tune, and  not  only  did  endure  it  with 
great  patience  and  courage,  but,  more- 
over, carried  it  with  a  joyful  and  mer- 
ry countenance.  One  night  in  the 
way  he  lodged  at  Guildford,  where 
Gceing  the  master  of  the  inn  (who 
sometime  was  our  servant,  and  who 
hath  written  it  to  one  of  my  women,  his 
sister),  and  some  others  Avho  wished 
well  unto  him,  weeping  and  sorrowing 
for  his  misfortunes,  he  comforted  them 
all,  and  willed  them  to  be  of  good 
cheer,  because  it  was  not  for  any 
crime — treason  or  the  like — he  was 
apprehended,  but  only  for  attempting 
to  leave  the  kingdom,  the  which  he 
had  done  only  for  his  own  safety. 
He  is  soon  to  be  examined  by  some 
of  the  council  sent  to  the  Tower  for 
this  special  purpose  by  the  queen.  I 
have  sought  to  obtain  access  to  him, 
but  been  flatly  refused,  and  a  hint 
ministered  to  me  that  albeit  my  resi- 
dence at  Arundel  House  is  tolerated 
at  the  present,  if  the  queen  should 
come  to  stay  at  Somerset  House,  which 
she  is  soon  like  to  do,  my  departure 
hence  shall  be  enforced;  but  while  I 
remain  I  would  fain  do  some  good  to 
persons  afflicted  as  myself.  I  pray 
you,  my  good  Constance,  when  you 
find  some  means  to  despatch  me  a 
letter,  therewith  to  send  the  names 
and  addresses  of  some  of  the  poor 
folks  Muriel  was  wont  to  visit ;  for  I 
am  of  opinion  grief  should  not  make 
us  selfish,  but  rather  move  us  to  re- 
lieve in  others  the  pains  of  which  we 
feel  the  sharp  edge  ourselves.  I  have 
already  met  by  accident  with  many 
necessitous  persons,  and  they  do  be- 
gin in  great  numbers  to  resort  to  this 
house.  God  knoweth  if  the  means  to 
relieve  them  will  not  be  soon  lacking. 
But  to  make  hay  whilst  the  sun  shines 
is  a  wise  saying,  and  in  some  instances 
a  precept.  Alas  !  the  sunshine  of  joy 
is  already  obscured  for  me.  Except 
for  these  poor  pensioners,  that  of  for- 
tune causeth  me  small  concern. — Thy 


lovins:  friend, 


A.  A.  AND  S." 


"  Will  and  Meg  arc  at  present  in 
separate  prisons.  It  is  impossible  but 
that  she  shall  be  presently  released ; 
for  against  her  nothing  can  be  alleged, 
so  much  as  to  give  a  pretence  for  an 
accusation.  My  lord  and  Will's  joint 
letter  to  Dr.  Allen,  sent  by  Mr.  Brydg- 
es — who,  out  of  confidence,  mentioned 
it  to  Mr.  Gifford,  a  pretended  priest, 
who  lives  at  Paris,  and  is  now  discov- 
ered to  be  a  spy — is  the  ground  of  tlie 
charges  against  them.  How  utterly 
unfounded  thou  well  knowest ;  but  so 
much  as  to  write  to  Dr.  Allen  is  now 
a  crime,  howsoever  innocent  the  matter 
of  such  a  correspondence  should  be. 
I  do  fear  that  in  one  of  his  letters — 
but  I  wot  not  if  of  this  they  have  pos- 
session— ^my  lord,  who  had  just  heard 
that  the  Earl  of  Leicester  had  openly 
vowed  to  make  the  name  of  Catholic 
as, odious  in  England  as  the  name  of 
Turk,  did  say,  in  manner  of  a  jest,  that 
if  some  lawful  means  might  be  found 
to  take  away  this  earl,  it  would  be  a 
great  good  for  Catholics  in  England ; 
which  careless  sentence  may  be  twisted 
by  his  enemies  to  his  disadvantage." 

Some  time  afterward,  a  person  pass- 
ing from  London  to  Rheims,  brought 
me  this  second  letter  from  her  lady- 
ship, written  at  E-umford,  in  Essex: 

"  What  I  have  been  warned  of  ver- 
ily hath  happened.  Upon  the  queen's 
coming  to  London  last  month,  it  was 
signified  to  me  I  should  leave  it.  Now 
that  Father  Southwell  hath  been  re- 
moved from  Arundel  Castle,  and  no 
priest  at  this  time  can  live  in  it,  I  did 
not  choose  to  be  delivered  there,  with- 
out the  benefit  of  spiritual  assistance 
in  case  of  danger  of  death,  and  so 
hired  a  house  in  this  town,  at  a  short 
distance  of  which  a  recusant  gentle- 
man doth  keep  one  in  his  house.  I 
came  from  London  without  obtaining 
leave  so  much  as  once  to  see  my  dear 
husband,  or  to  send  him  a  letter  or 
message,  or  receive  one  from  him. 
But  this  I  have  learnt,  that  he  cannot 
speak  with  any  person  whatsoever  but 
in   the   presence   and  hearing  of  his 


266 


Constance  Sherwood. 


keeper  or  tlie  lieutenant  of  the  Tower, 
and  that  the  room  in  which  he  is  locked 
up  has  no  sight  of  the  sun  for  the  great- 
est part  of  the  year ;  so  that  if  not 
changed  before  the  winter  cometh  it 
shall  prove  verj  unwholesome  ;  and 
moreover  the  noisomeness  thereof 
caused  bj  a  vault  that  is  under  it  is  so 
great  that  the  keeper  can  scarce  en- 
dure to  enter  into  it,  much  less  to  stay 
there  any  time.  Alas!  what  ravages 
shall  this  treatment  cause  on  a  frame 
of  great  niceness  and  delicate  habits,  I 
leave  you  to  judge.  By  this  time  he 
hath  been  examined  twice  ;  and  albeit 
forged  letters  w^ere  produced,  the  fals- 
ity of  which  the  council  were  forced  to 
admit,  and  he  was  charged  with  noth- 
ing which  could  be  substantiated,  ex- 
cept leaving  the  realm  witliout  license 
of  the  queen,  and  being  reconciled  to 
the  Church  of  Rome,  his  sentence. is 
yet  deferred,  and  his  imprisonment  as 
strict  as  ever.  I  pray  God  it  may 
not  be  deferred  till  his  health  is 
utterly  destroyed,  which,  I  doubt  not, 
is  what  liis  enemies  would  most  de- 
sire. 

"  Last  evening  I  had  the  exceeding 
great  comfort  of  the  coming  hither  of 
mine  own  dear  good  Meg,  who  hath  been 
:  ome  time  released  from  prison,  with 
many  vexatious  restraints,  howsoever, 
still  laid  upon  her.  Albeit  very  much 
advanced  in  her  pregnancy,  nothing 
would  serve  her  when  she  had  leave 
to  quit  London  but  to  do  me  this  good. 
This  is  the  first  taste  of  joy  I  have 
had  since  ray  lord's  commitment.  Li 
her  face  I  behold  his ;  when  she  speaks 
I  hear  him.  No  talk  is  ministered  be- 
tween us  but  of  that  beloved  husband 
and  brother ;  our  common  prayers  are 
put  up  for  him.  She  hath  spied  his 
spies  for  to  discover  all  which  relates 
to  him,  and  hath  found  means  to  con- 
vey to  him — I  thank  God  for  it — some 
books  of  devotion,  which  he  greatly 
needed.  She  is  yet  a-bed  this  moan- 
ing, for  we  sat  up  late  y ester-eve,  so 
sweet,  albeit  sad,  was  the  converse  we 
lield  after  so  many  common  sufferings. 
But  methinks  I  grudge  her  these  hours 
of  sleep,  longing  for  to  hear  again  those 


loved  accents  which  mind  me  of  my 
dear  Phil. 

"  My  pen  had  hardly  traced  those  last 
words,  when  a  messenger  arrived  from 
the  council  with  an  express  command 
to  Margaret  from  her  majesty  not  to 
stay  with  me  another  night,  but  forth- 
with to  return  to  London.  The  sur- 
prise and  fear  which  this  message  oc- 
casioned hastened  the  event  which 
should  have  yet  been  delayed  some 
weeks.  A  few  hours  after  (I  thank 
God,  in  safety)  a  fair  son  was  born; 
but  in  the  mother's  heart  and  mine  ap- 
prehension dispelled  joy,  lest  enforced 
disobedience  should  produce  fresh 
troubles.  Howsoever,  she  recovered 
quickly ;  and  as  soon  as  she  could  be 
removed  I  lost  her  sweet  company. 
Thine  affectionate  friend  to  command^ 
"  A.  A.  AND  S." 

Some  time  afterward,  one  Mr.  Dix- 
on, a  gentleman  I  had  met  once  or 
twice  in  London,  tarried  a  night  at  our 
house,  and  brought  me  the  news  that 
God  had  given  the  Countess  of  Arun- 
del a  son,  w^hich  she  had  earnestly  de- 
sired her  husband  should  be  informed 
of,  but  he  heard  it  had  been  refused. 
Howsoever,  when  he  was  urgent  with 
his  keepers  to  let  him  know  if  she  had 
been  safely  delivered,  they  gave  him 
to  understand  that  she  had  another 
daughter ;  his  enemies  not  being  will- 
ing he  should  have  so  much  content- 
ment as~  the  birth  of  a  oon  should  have 
yiolded  him. 

"  Doth  the  queen,"  I  asked  of  this 
gentleman,  "  then  not  mitigate  her  aii-" 
ger  against  these  noble  persons  ?" 

"  So  far  from  it,"  he  answered,  "that 
when,  at  the  beginning  of  this  trou])le, 
Lady  Arundel  went  to  Sir  Francis 
Knowles  for  to  seek  by  his  means  to 
obtain  an  audience  from  her  majesty, 
in  order  to  sue  for  her  husband,  he  told 
her  she  would  sooner  release  him  a'^ 
once — which,  howsoever,  she  had  no 
mind  to  do — than  only  once  allow  her 
to  enter  her  presence.  He  then,  her 
ladyship  told  rae,  rated  her  exceeding- 
ly, asking  if  she  and  her  husband  wer«'^ 
rot  ashamed  to  make  themsslves  pa- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


267 


pists,  only  out  of  spleen  and  peevish 
humor  to  cross  and  vex  the  queen  ? 
She  ansvv^ered  him  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  her  lord  did  on?,  of  his  keepers, 
who  told  him*  very  many  in  the  king- 
dom wore  of  opinion  that  he  made 
show  to  be  Catholie  only  out  of  policy; 
to  whom  he  said,  with  great  mildness, 
that  God  dotb  know  the  secrets  of  all 
hearts,  but  that  he  thought  there  was 
small  policy  ibr  a  man  to  lose  his  lib- 
erty, hazard  his  estate  and  life,  and 
live  in  that  manner  in  a  prison  as  he 
then  did." 

A  brief  letter  from  Lady  Tregony 
mfbrmed  me  soon  after  this  that,  after 
a  tliird  examination,  the  court  had  fined 
Lord  Arundel  in  £10,000  unto  the 
queen  and  adjudged  him  to  imprison- 
ment during  her  pleasure.  What  that 
pleasure  proved^  ten  years  of  unmiti- 
gated suffering  and  slow  torture  evinc- 
ed ;  one  of  the  most  grievous  of  wiiicli 
was  that  his  lady  could  never  obtain 
for  to  see  him,  albeit  other  prisoners' 
wives  had  easy  access  to  them.  This 
toucliing  letter  I  had  from  her  three 
years  after  he  v/as  imprisoned: 

''Mine  ov/n  good  Friend — Life 
doth  wear  0:1,  and  relief  of  one  sort 
leastv/ays  comes  not ;  but  God  forbid 
I  should  repine.  For  such  instances  I 
see  in  the  letters  of  my  dear  lord — 
vt'hich  Avhen  some  of  his  servants  do 
leave  the  Tower,  v>diich,  worn  out  as 
they  soon  become  by  sickness,  they 
must  needs  do  to  preserve  their  lives — 
he  findeth  means  to  write  to  me  or  to 
Father  Southwell,  that  I  am  ashamed 
to  grieve  overmuch  at  anything  which 
doth  befal  us — when  his  willingness 
and  contentment  to  suffer  are  so  great. 
As  when  he  saith  to  that  good  father, 
'-  For  all  crosses  touching  worldly  mat- 
ters, I  thank  God  they  trouble  me  not 
much,  and  much  the  less  for  your  sin- 
gular good  counsel,  which  I  beseech 
our  Lord  I  may  often  remember;'  and 
to  me  this  dear  husband  writes  thus : 
'I  beseech  you,  for  the  love  of  God, 
to  comfort  yourself  whatsoever  shall 
happen,  and  to  be  best  pleased  with  that 
which  shall  please  God  best,  and  be 


his  will  to  send.  I  find  tliat  there  ia 
some  intent  to  do  me  no  good,  but  in- 
deed to  do  me  the  most  good  of  all ; 
but  I  am — and,  thank  God,  doubt  not 
but  I  shall  be  by  his  grace — ready  to 
endure  the  worst  which  flesh  and  blood 
can  do  unto  rac.'  O  Constance,  flesh 
and  blood  doth  sometimes  rebel  against 
the  keen  edge  of  suffering;  but  I  pray 
you,  my  friend,  how  can  I  complain 
when  I  hear  of  this  much,  long  dearly 
cherished  husband,  ascending  by  steps 
the  ladder  of  perfection,  advancing 
from  virtue  to  virtue  as  the  psalm, 
saith,  never  uttering  one  unsubmissive 
word  toward  God,  or  one  resentful  one 
toward  liis  worst  enemies  ;  making,  in 
the  most  sublime  manner,  of  necessity 
virtue,  and  turning  his  loathsome  pris- 
on into  a  religious  cell,  wherein  every 
exercise  of  devotion  is  duly  practised, 
and  his  soul  trained  for  heaven  ? 

"  Tlie  small  pittance  the  queen  al- 
lowcth  for  his  maintenance  he  so  spar- 
ingly useth,  that,  most  of  it  doth  pass 
into  the  hands  of  the  poor  or  other  more 
destitute  prisoners  than  himself.  But 
sickness  and  disease  prey  on  his  frame. 
And  the  picture  of  him  my  memory 
draweth  is  gradually  more  effaced  in 
the  living  man,  albeit  vivid  in  mine 
own  portraying  of  it. 

There  is  now  a  priest  imprisoned  in 
the  Tower,  not  very  far  from  the  cham- 
ber wherein  my  lord  is  confined  ;  one 
of  the  name  of  Bennet.  My  lord  de- 
sired much  to  meet  him,  and  speak 
with  him  for  the  comfort  of  his  soul, 
and  1  have  found  means  to  bring  it  to 
effect  by  mediation  of  the  lieutenant's 
daughter,  to  whom  I  have  given  thirty 
pounds  for  her  endeavors  in  procuring 
it.  And  moreover  she  hath  assisted 
in  conveying  into  his  chamber  church- 
stuff  and  ail  things  requisite  for  the 
saying  of  mass,  whereunto  she  teib 
me,  to  my  indescribable  comfort,  he 
himself  doth  serve  with  great  humility, 
and  therein  receives  the  blessed  sacra- 
ment frequently.  Sir  Thomas  Gerard, 
she  saitli,  and  Mr.  Shelly,  which  are 
likewise  prisoner3  at  this  time,  she  in- 
troduces secretly  into  his  lodgings  for 
to  hear  ma33,anJ  have  speech  with 


>6S 


Constance  Sherwood. 


him.  Alas !  what  should  be  a  comfort 
to  him,  and  so  the  greatest  of  joys  tome, 
the  exceeding  peril  of  these  times 
causeth  me  to  look  upon  with  appre- 
hension; for  these  gentlemen,  albeit 
well  disposed,  are  not  famed  for  so 
mucli  wisdom  and  prudence  as  him- 
self, in  not  saying  or  doing  anything 
which  might  be  an  occasion  of  danger 
to  him ;  and  the  least  lack  of  wariness, 
v/hen  there  is  so  much  discourse  about 
the  great  Spanish  fleet  which  is  now 
in  preparation,  should  prove  like  to 
be  fatal.  God  send  no  worse  hap  be- 
fal  us  soon. 

"In  addition  to  these  other  troubles 
and  fears,  I  am  much  molested  by  a 
melancholy  vapor,  which  ascends  to 
ray  head,  and  greatly  troubles  me  since 
I  was  told  upon  a  sudden  of  the  unex- 
pected death  of  Margaret  Sackville, 
whom,  for  her  many  great  virtues  and 
constant  affection  toward  myself,  1  did 
60  highly  esteem  and  affection." 

From  that  time  for  a  long  while  I 
had  no  direct  news  of  Lady  Arundel; 
but  report  brought  us  woful  tidings 
concerning  her  lord,  who,  after  many 
private  examinations,  had  been  brought 
from  the  Tower  to  the  King's  Bench 
Court,  in  the  hall  of  Westminster, 
and  there  publicly  arraigned  on  the 
charge  of  high  treason,  the  grounds  of 
which  accusation  being  that  he  had 
prayed  and  procured  others  to  make 
simultaneous  prayer  for  twenty-four 
hours,  and  procured  Mr.  Bennet  to  say 
a  mass  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  for  the  suc- 
cess of  the  Spanish  fleet.  Whereas 
the  whole  truth  of  this  matter  consisted 
in  this,  that  when  a  report  became  cur- 
rent among  the  Catholics  about  Lon- 
don that  a  sudden  massacre  of  them 
all  was  intended  upon  the  first  landing 
of  the  Spaniards,  this  coming  to  the 
earl's  ear,  he  judged  it  necessary  that 
all  Catholics  should  betake  themselves 
to  prayer,  either  for  the  avoiding  of 
the  danger  or  for  the  better  preparing 
themselves  thereunto,  and  so  persuad- 
ed those  in  the  Tower  to  make  prayer 
together  for  that  end,  and  also  sent  to 
some   others   for   the   same   purpose, 


whereof  one  of  greater  prudence  and 
experience  than  the  rest  signified  imto 
him  that  perhaps  it  might  be  otlierwise 
interpreted  by  their  enemies  than  he 
intended,  wishing  him  to  desist,  as  pres- 
ently thereupon  he  did ;  but  it  was  then 
too  Idte.  Some  which  he  had  trusted, 
cither  out  of  fear  or  fair  promises, 
testified  falsely  against  him — of  which 
]Mr.  Bennet  was  one,  wlio  afterward 
retracted  with  bitter  anguish  his  testi- 
mony, in  a  letter  to  his  lordship,  which 
contained  these  words :  "  With  a 
fearful,  guilty,  unjust,  and  most  tor- 
mented conscience,  only  for  saving 
of  my  life  and  liberty,  I  said  you 
moved  me  to  say  a  mass  for  the  good 
success  of  the  Spanish  fleet.  For 
which  unjust  confession,  or  rather  ac- 
cusation, I  do  again  and  again,  and  to 
my  life's  end,  most  instantly  crave 
God's  pardon  and  yours ;  and  for  my 
better  satisfaction  of  this,  my  unjust 
admission,  I  will,  if  need  require, 
offer  up  both  life  and  limbs  in  averring 
my  accusation  to  be,  as  it  is  indeed, 
and  as  I  shall  answer  before  God,  an- 
gels, and  men,  most  unjust,  and  only 
done  out  of  fear  of  the  Tower,  tor- 
ments, and  death."  Notwithstanding 
the  earl's  very  stout  and  constant  denial 
of  the  charge,  and  pleading  the  above 
letter  of  Mr.  Bennet,  retracting  his 
false  statement,  he  was  condemned  of 
high  treason,  and  had  sentence  pro- 
nounced^ against  him.  But  the  exe- 
cution was  deferred,  and  finally  the 
queen  resolved  to  spare  his  life,  but 
yet  by  no  means  to  release  him.  His 
estates,  and  likewise  his  lady's,  were 
forfeited  to  the  crown,  and  he  at  that 
time  dealt  with  most  unkindly,  as  the 
following  letter  will  show  : 

"Dear  Constance — At  last  I 
have  found  the  means  of  sending  a 
packet  by  a  safe  hand,  which  in  these 
days,  when  men  do  so  easily  turn  trai- 
tors—notable instances  of  which,  t:^ 
our  exceeding  pain  and  trouble,  hav3 
lately  occurred — is  no  easy  matter.  I 
doubt  not  but  thy  fond  affectionate 
heart  hath  followed  with  a  sympa- 
thetic grief  the  anguish  of  mine  dui- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


260 


ing  tho  time  past,  wherein  my  liaa- 
bai)d's  life  liatli  been  in  dailj  peril ; 
and  albeit  lie  is  now  respited,  jet, 
alas !  as  he  saith  himself,  and  useth 
the  knowledge  to  the  best  purpose,  he 
is  but  a  doomed  man ;  reprieved,  not 
pardoned;  spared,  not  released.  Mine 
own  troubles  beside  have  been  greater 
than  can  be  thought  of;  hy  virtue  of 
the  forfeiture  of  my  lord's  estates  and 
mine,  my  home  hath  been  searched 
by  justices,  and  no  room,  no  corner, 
no  trunk  or  coffer,  left  unopened  and 
unransacked.  I  have  often  been 
brought  before  the  council  and  most 
severely  examined.  The  queen's 
officers  and  others  in  authority — to 
whom  I  am  sometimes  forced  to  sue 
for  favor,  or  some  mitigation  of  mine 
own  or  my  lord's  sufferings — do  use 
me  often  very  harshly,  and  reject  my 
petitions  with  scorn  and  opprobrious 
language.  All  our  goods  arc  seized 
for  the  queen.  They  have  left  me 
nothing  but  two  or  three  beds,  and 
these,  they  do  say,  but  for  a  time. 
When  business  requires,  I  am  forced 
to  go  on  foct,  and  slenderly  attended  ; 
my  coach  being  taken  from  me.  I 
have  retained  but  two  of  my  servants 
— my  children's  nurse  being  one.  I 
have  as  yet  no  allowance,  as  is  usual 
in  such  cases,  for  the  maintenance  of 
my  family ;  so  I  am  forced  to  pay 
them  and  buy  victuals  with  the  money 
made  by  the  sale  of  mine  own  jewels  ; 
and  I  am  sometimes  forced  to  borrow 
and  make  hard  shifts  to  procure  neces- 
sary provisions  and  clothes  for  the 
children ;  but  if  I  get  eight  pounds 
a  week,  wliich  the  queen  hath  been 
moved  to  allow  me,  then  me  thinks  I 
shall  think  myself  no  poorer  than  a 
Christian  woman  should  be  content  to 
be;  and  I  have  promised  Almighty 
God,  if  that  good  shall  befal  us,  to 
bestow  one  hundred  marks  out  of  it 
yearly  on  the  poor.  I  am  often  sent 
out  of  London  by  her  majesty's  com- 
mands, albeit  some  infirmities  I  do 
now  suffer  from  force  me  to  consult 
physicians  there.  Methinks  when  I 
am  at  Arundel  House  I  am  not  Avholly 
Darted  from  my  lord,  albeit  my  hum- 


ble petition,  by  means  of  frieiids,  to  Sfc*! 
him  is  always  denied.  When  1  hear 
he  is  sick,  mine  anguish  increases. 
The  like  favor  is  often  granted  to 
Lady  Latimore  and  others  whose  hus- 
bands are  at  tli»s  time  i:)risoners  in  the 
Tower,  but  I  can  never  obtain  it.  Tho 
lieutenant's  daughter,  whom  I  do 
sometimes  sec,  when  she  is  in  a  con- 
versible  mood  doth  inform  me  of  my 
dear  husband's  condition,  and  relates 
instances  of  his  goodness  and  patience 
which  wring  and  yet  comfort  mine 
heart.  What  think  you  of  his  never 
having  been  heard  so  much  as  once  to 
complain  of  the  loss  of  his  goods  or 
the  incommodities  of  his  prison;  of 
his  gentleness  and  humility  where  he 
is  himself  concerned ;  of  his  boldness 
in  defending  his  religion  and  her  min- 
isters, Avhich  was  alike  shown,  as  well 
as  his  natural  cheerfulness,  in  a  con- 
versation she  told  me  had  passed  be- 
tween her  father,  the  lieutenant,  and 
him,  a  few  days  ago?  You  have 
heard,  I  ween,  that  good  Father 
Southwell  was  arrested  some  time 
back  at  Mr.  Bellamy's  house;  it  is 
reported  by  means  of  the  poor  un- 
happy soul  his  daughter,  whom  I  met 
one  day  at  the  door  of  the  prison,  at- 
tired in  a  gaudy  manner  and  carry- 
ing herself  in  a  bold  fashion ;  but 
when  she  met  mine  eye  hers  fell. 
Alas  !  poor  soul,  God  help  her  and 
bring  her  to  repentance.  Well,  now 
Father  Southwell  is  in  the  Tower,  my 
lord,  by  Miss  Hopton's  means,  hath 
had  once  or  twice  speech  with  him, 
and  doth  often  inquire  of  the  lieuten- 
ant about  him,  which  when  he  did  so 
the  other  day  he  used  the  word's 
'blessed  father'  in  speaking  of  him. 
The  lieutenant  (she  said)  seemed  to 
take  exception  thereat,  saying,  *  Term 
you  him  blessed  father,  being  as  he  is 
an  enemy  to  his  country  ?'  My  lord 
answered :  *  How  can  that  be,  seeing 
yourself  hath  told  me  heretofore  that 
no  fault  could  be  laid  unto  him  but 
his  religion?'  Then  the  lieutenant 
said  :  *  The  last  time  I  was  in  his  cell 
your  dog,  my  lord,  came  in  and  licked 
his  hand.'     Then  quoth  my  lord,  pat- 


270 


CoQistancc  Slier  wood. 


ting  hk  dog  fondly  :  ^  I  love  him  the 
better  for  it.'  'Perhaps/  quoth  the 
lieutenant  in  a  scoffing  manner,  '  it 
might  be  he  came  thither  to  have  his 
blessing.'  To  v.^hich  my  lord  replied, 
*  It  is  no  new  thing  for  animals  to  seek 
a  blessing  at  the  hands  of  holy  men, 
St.  Jerome  writing  how  the  lions  which 
had  digged  St.  Paul  the  hermit's 
grave  stood  waiting  with  their  eyes 
upon  St.  Anthony  expecting  his  bless- 
ing.' 

"  Is  it  not  a  strange  trial,  mine  own 
Constance,  and  one  which  hath  not 
befallen  many  women,  to  have  a 
fondly  loved  husband  yet  alive,  and 
to  be  sometimes  so  near  unto  him  that 
it  should  take  but  a  few  moments  to 
cross  the  space  which  doth  divide  us,- 
and  yet  never  behold  him ;  year  after 
year  passing  away,  and  the  heart 
waxing  sick  with  delays?  Howso- 
ever, one  sad  firm  hope  I  hold,  which 
keepeth  me  somewhat  careful  of  my 
health,  lest  I  should  be  disabled  when 
that  time  comelli — one  on  which  I  fix 
my  mind  with  apprehension  and  de- 
sire to  defer  the  approach  thereof,  yet 
pray  one  day  to  see  it — yea,  to  live 
long  enough  for  this  and  then  to  die, 
if  it  shall  please  God.  When  mine 
own  Philip  is  on  his*death-bed,  when 
the  slow  consumptive  disease  which 
devoureth  his  vitals  obtaineth  its  end, 
then,  I  ween,  no  woman  upon  earth, 
none  that  I  ever  lieard  of  or  could 
think  of,  can  deny  me  to  approach 
Iiim  and  receive  his  last  embrace.  Oh 
that  this  should  be  my  best  comfort, 
mine  only  hope  I" 

I  pass  over  many  intervening  let- 
ters from  this  afflicted  lady  which  at 
distant  intervals  I  received,  in  one  of 
which  she  expressed  her  sorrow  at  the 
execution  at  Tyburn  of  her  constant 
friend  and  guide,  Father  Southwell, 
and  likewise  informed  me  of  Mistress 
Wells's  death  in  Newgate,  and  tran- 
scribe this  one,  written  about  six 
months  afterward,  in  which  she  relates 
the  closing  scene  of  her  husband's  life  : 

"  Mine  own  dear  Constance — 
All  is  over  now,  and  my  overcharged 


heart  casteth  about  for  some  allevia- 
tion in  its  excessive  grief,  which  may 
be  I  shall  find  in  imparting  to  one 
well  acquainted  with  his  virtues  and 
my  love  for  him  what  I  have  learjit 
touching  the  closing  scenes  of  my  dear 
lord's  mortal  life.  For  think  not  I 
have  been  so  happy  as  to  behold  him 
again,  or  that  he  should  die  in  my 
arms.  No;  that  which  was  denied 
me  for  ten  long  years  neither  could 
his  dying  prayers  obtain.  For  many 
months  notice  had  been  given  unto 
me  by  his  servants  and  others  that  his 
health  was  very  fast  declining.  One 
gentleman  particularly  told  me  li;' 
himself  believed  his  end  to  be  near. 
His  devout  exercises  were  yet  increas- 
ed— the  bent  of  his  mind  more  and 
more  directed  solely  toward  God  and 
heaven.  In  those  times  v/liich  were 
allotted  to  walking  or  other  recrea- 
tion, his  discourse  and  conversation 
either  with  iiis  keeper  or  the  lieuten- 
ant or  his  own  servant,  was  either 
tending  to  piety  or  some  kind  of  profit- 
able discourse,  most  often  of  the  happi- 
ness of  those  that  suffer  anything  for 
our  Saviour's  sake  ;  to  which  purpose 
he  had  writ  with  his  own  hand  upon  the 
wall  of  his  chamber  this  Latin  sen- 
tence, '  Quanto  plus  afflictionis  pro 
Christo  in  hoc  saeculo,  tanto  plus 
glorias  cum  Christo  in  future ;'  the 
which  he  used  to  show  to  his  servants, 
inviting^  them,  as  well  as  himself,  to 
suffer  all  with  patience  and  alacrity. 

"  In  the  month  of  August  tidings 
were  brought  unto  me  that,  sitting  ai 
dinner,  he  had  fallen  so  very  ill  imme- 
diately upon  the  eating  of  a  roasted 
teal,  that  some  did  suspect  him  to  be 
poisoned.  I  sent  him  some  antidotes, 
and  all  the  remedies  I  could  procure  ; 
but  all  in  vain.  The  disease  had  so 
possessed  him  that  it  could  not  be  re- 
moved, but  by  little  and  little  consum- 
ed his  body,  so  that  he  became  like  an 
anatomy,  having  nothing  left  but  skiu 
and  bone.  Much  talk  hath  been  min- 
istered anent  his  being  poisoned. 
Alas  !  my  thinking  is,  and  ever  shall 
bo,  the  slow  poison  he  died  of  ^vas 
lack  of  air,  of  sunshine,  of  kindness, 


Constance  Sherwood. 


271 


oF  loving  aid,  of  careful  sympathy. 
When  1  heard  his  case  was  consider- 
ed desperate,  the  old  long  hopes,  sus- 
tained for  ten  years,  that  out  of  the 
extremity  of  grief  one  hour  of  com- 
fort should  arise,  woke  up ;  but  now  I 
was  advised  not  to  stir  in  this  matter 
myself,  for  it  should  only  incense  the 
queen,  who  had  alw^ays  hated  me  ; 
whereas  my  lord  she  once  had  liked, 
and  it  might  be,  when  she  heard  he 
was  dying,  she  should  relent.  She 
hnd  made  a  kind  of  promise  to  some 
of  his  friends  that  before  his  death 
his  wife  and  children  should  come 
unto  him  ;  whereupon,  conceiving  that 
now  his  time  in  the  world  could  not 
be  long,  he  writ  a  humble  letter  to 
her  petitioning  the  performance  of  her 
promise.  The  lieutenant  of  the 
Tower  carried  tliis  letter,  and  deliver- 
ed it  wdth  his  own  hands  to  the  queen, 
and  brought  him  her  answer  by  word 
of  mouth.  What  think  you,  mine 
own  Constance,  was  the  answ^er  she 
sent  that  dying  man?  God  forgive 
her!  Philip  did;  yea,  and  so  do  I 
— not  fully  at  the  time,  now  most 
fully.  His  crown  should  have  been 
less  glorious  but  for  the  heart-martyr- 
dom she  invented. 

*'  This  was  her  message  :  '  That  if 
he  would  but  once  go  to  the  Protest- 
ant church  his  request  should  not  only 
be  granted,  but  he  should  moreover 
be  restored  to  his  honor  and  estate 
with  as  much  favor  as  she  could 
show.'  Oh,  what  were  estates  and 
nonors  to  that  dying  saint !  what  her 
favor  to  that  departing  soul!  One 
offering,  one  sacrifice,  one  final  with- 
drawing of  affection's  thirsty  and 
parched  lips  from  the  chalice  of  a 
supreme  earthly  consolation,  and  all 
was  accomplished ;  the  bitterness  of 
death  overpast.  He  gave  thanks  to 
the  lieutenant  for  his  pains ;  he  said 
he  could  not  accept  her  majesty's 
offers  upon  that  condition,  and  added 
withal  that  he  was  sorry  he  had  but 
one  life  to  lose  in  that  cause.  A  very 
worthy  gentleman  wlio  was  present  at 
tills  passage  related  it  to  me  ;  and 
Loi'd  Mountairue  I  have  also  had  it 


frcm,  which'  heard  the  same  from  his 
father-in-law,  my  Lord  Dorset.  Con- 
stance, for  a  brief  while  a  terrible  tu- 
mult raged  in  my  souL  Think  what 
it  was  to  know  one  so  long,  so 
passionately  loved,  dying  nigh  unto 
and  yet  apart  from  me,  dying  unaided 
by  any  priest — for  though  he  had  a 
great  desire  to  be  assisted  by  Father 
Edmund,  by  whose  means  he  had  beer, 
reconciled,  it  was  by  no  means  permit- 
ted that  either  he  or  any  other  pries: 
should  come  to  him — dying  without  a 
Idndred  face  to  smile  on  him,  witliout 
a  kinsman  for  to  speak  with  him  and 
list  to  his  last  wishes.  He  desired  to 
see  his  brother  William  or  his  miclc 
Lord  Henry ;  at  least  to  take  his  last 
leave  of  them  before  his  death;  but 
neither  was  that  small  request  granted 
— no,  not  so  much  as  to  see  his  broth- 
er Thomas,  though  both  then  and  ever 
he  had  been  a  Psotestant.  And  all 
this  misery  was  the  fruit  of  one  stern, 
cruel,  unbending  hatred  —  of  one 
proud  human  wdll ;  a  will  which  was 
sundering  what  God  had  joined  to- 
gether. Like  a  bird  against  the  bars 
of  an  iron  cage,  my  poor  heart  dasli 
ed  itself  with  wild  throbbings  against 
these  human  obstacles.  But  not  for 
very  long,  I  thank  God;  brief  was 
the  storm  which  convulsed  my  soul. 
I  soon  discerned  his  hand  in  this  great 
trial — his  will  above  all  human  will  ; 
and  while  w^rithing  under  a  Father's 
merciful  scourge,  I  could  yet  bless 
hhn  who  held  it.  I  pray  you,  Con- 
stance, how  should  a  woman  have  en- 
dured so  great  an  anguish  which  had 
not  been  helped  by  him?  Methinks 
what  must  have  sustained  me  was 
that  before-mentioned  gentleman's  re- 
port of  my  dear  lord's  great  piety  and 
virtue,  wdiich  made  me  ashamed  of 
not  striving  to  resemble  him  in  howso- 
ever small  a  degree.  Oh,  w^hat  a 
v/ork  God  wrought  in  that  chosen 
soul!  What  meekness,  what  humil- 
ity, what  nobleness  of  heart!  He 
grew  so  faint  and  weak  by  degi-ecs 
that  he  was  not  able  to  leave  his  bed. 
His  physicians  coming  to  visit  him 
some  days  before  his  death,  he  desired 


2  72 


C(yiistanc€  Saorwood. 


them  not  to  trouble  themselves  nov/ 
any  more,  his  case  being  beyond  their 
skill.  They  thereupon  departing,  Sir 
Miehael  Blount,  then  lieutenant  of  the 
Tower,  Avho  had  been  ever  very  hard 
and  harsh  unto  him,  took  occasion  to 
come  and  visit  him,  and,  kneeling  down 
by  his  bedside,  in  humble  manner  de- 
sired my  dear  Phil  to  forgive  him. 
Whereto  mine  own  beloved  husband 
answered  in  this  manner,  '  Do  you 
ask  forgiveness,  Mr.  Lieutenant? 
Why,  then,  I  forgive  you  in  the  same 
sort  as  I  desire  myself  to  be  forgiven  at 
the  hands  of  God  ;'  and  then  kissed  his 
liand,  and  offered  it  in  most  kind 
and  charitable  manner  to  him,  and 
holding  his  fast  in  his  own  said,  'I 
pray  you  also  to  forgive  me  whatever 
I  have  said  or  done  in  anything  offen- 
sive to  you,'  and  he  melting  into  tears 
and  answering  'that  he  forgave  him 
\nt\\  all  his  heart;'  my  lord  raised 
liimself  a  little  upon  his  pillow,  and 
made  a  brief,  grave  speech  unto  the 
lieutenant  in  this  manner  :  '  Mr.  Lieu- 
tenant, you  have  showed  both  me  and 
ray  men  very  hard  measure.'  '  Where- 
in, my  lord?'  quoth  ho.  '  Nay,' said 
my  lord,  '  I  will  not  make  a  recapitu- 
lation of  anything,  for  it  is  all  freely 
ibrgiven.  Only  I  am  to  say  unto  you 
a  few  words  of  my  last  will,  which  be- 
ing observed,  may,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  turn  much  to  your  benefit  and 
reputation.  I  speak  not  for  myself; 
ibr  God  of  his  goodness  hath  taken  or- 
der that  I  shall  be  delivered  very 
shortly  out  of  your  charge ;  only  for 
others  I  speak  who  may  be  committed 
to  this  place.  You  must  think,  Mr.  Lieu- 
tenant, that  wdien  a  prisoner  comes 
hither  to  this  Tower  that  he  bringeth 
sorrow  with  him.  Oh,  then  do  not 
add  affliction  to  affliction ;  there  is  no 
man  whatsoever  that  thinketh  himself 
to  stand  surest  but  may  fall.  It  is  a 
very  inhuman  part  to  tread  on  him 
whom  misfortune  hath  cast  down. 
The  man  that  is  void  of  mercy  God 
hath  in  great  detestation.  Your  com- 
mission is  only  to  keep  in  safety,  not 
to  kill  with  severity.  Remember, 
good  Mr.  Lieutenant,  that   God  who 


Aviih  his  finger  turneth  the  unstable 
wheel  of  this  variable  world,  can  in 
the  revolution  of  a  few  days  bring 
you  to  be  a  prisoner  also,  and  to  be 
kept  in  the  same  place  where  now  yon 
keep  others.  There  is  no  calamity 
that  men  are  subject  unto  but  you 
may  also  taste  as  vrell  as  any  other 
man.  Farewell,  Mr.  Lieutenant ;  for 
the  time  of  my  short  abode  come  to 
me  whenever  you  please,  and  you 
shall  be  heartily  welcome  as  my 
friend.'  My  dear  lord,  when  he  utter- 
ed these  words,  should  seem  to  have 
had  some  kind  of  prophetic  foresight 
touching  this  poor  man's  fate;  for  I 
have  just  heard  this  day,  seven  weeks 
only  after  my  husband's  death,  that 
Sir  Michael  Blount  hath  iallen  into 
great  disgrace,  lost  his  office,  and  is 
indeed  committed  close  prisoner  in 
that  same  Tower  where  he  so  long 
kept  others. 

"  And  now  my  faltering  pen  must 
needs  transcribe  the  last  letter  I  receiv- 
ed from  my  beloved  husband,  ibr  your 
heart,  dear  friend,  is  one  wdth  mine. 
You  have  known  its  sufferings  through 
the  many  years  evil  influences  robbed 
it  of  that  love  which,  for  brief  inter- 
vals of  happiness  afterward  and  this 
long  separation  since,  hath,  by  its 
steady  and  constant  return,  made  so 
rich  amends  for  the  past.  In  these 
final  words  you  shall  find  proofs  of  his 
excellent^humility  and  notable  affec- 
tion for  my  unworthy  self,  which  I 
doubt  not,  my  dear  Constance,  shall 
draw  water  from  your  eyes.  Mine 
yield  no  moisture  now.  Methinks 
these  last  griefs  have  exhausted  in 
them  the  fountain  of  tears. 

'• '  Mine  own  good  wife,  I  must  now 
in  this  world  take  my  last  farewell  of 
you ;  and  as  I  know  no  person  living 
whom  I  have  so  much  offended  as 
•yourself,  so  do  I  account  this  opportu- 
nity of  asking  your  .forgiveness  as  a 
singular  benefit  of  Almighty  God.  And 
I  most  humbly  and  heartily  beseech 
you,  even  for  his  sake .  and  of  your 
charity,  to  forgive  me  all  whereinso- 
ever I  have  offended  you  ;  and  the  as- 
surance I   have  of  this  your  forgive- 


Constance  Sherwood. 


273 


ness  is  my  greatest  contentment  at  this 
present,  and  will  be  a  greater,  I  doubt 
not,  wlien  my  soul  is  ready  to  depart 
out  of  my  body.  I  call  God  to  wit- 
ness it  is  no  small  grief  unto  me  triat  I 
cannot  make  you  recompense  in  this 
world  for  the  wrongs  I  have  done  you. 
Affliction  gives  understanding.  God, 
who  knows  my  heart,  and  has  seen 
my  true  sorrow  in  that  behalf,  has,  I 
hope,  of  his  infinite  mercy,  remitted 
all,  I  doubt  not,  as  you  have  done  in 
your  singular  charity,  to  mine  infinite 
comfort.' 

"  Now  what  remaineth  but  in  a  few 
brief  sentences  to  relate  how  this  loved 
husband  spent  his  last  hours,  and  the 
manner  of  his  death?  Those  were  for  the 
most  part  spent  in  prayer ;  sometimes 
saying  his  beads,  sometimes  such 
psalms  and  prayers  as  he  knew  by 
heart.  Seeing  his  servants  (one  of 
which  hath  been  the  narrator  to  me  of 
these  his  final  moments)  stand  by  his 
bedside  in  the  morning  weeping  in  a 
mournful  manner,  he  asked  them 
'  what  o'clock  it  was  ?'  they  answering 
that  it  was  eight  or  thereabout,  *  Why, 
then,'  said  he, '  I  have  almost  run  out 
my  course,  and  come  to  the  end  of  this 
miserable  mortal  life,'  desiring  them 
not  to  weep  for  him,  since  he  did  not 
doubt,  by  the  grace  of  God,  but  all 
would  go  well  with  him ;  which  being 
said  he  returned  to  his  prayers  upon 
his  beads  again,  though  then  with  a 
very  slow,  hollow,  and  fainting  voice  ; 
and  so  continued  as  long  as  he  was 
able  to  draw  so  much  breath  as  was 
sufficient  to  sound  out  the  names  of 
Jesus  and  Mary,  which  were  the  last 
words  he  was  ever  heard  to  speak. 
The  last  minute  of  his  last  hour  being 
come,  lying  on  his  back,  his  eyes  firmly 
fixed  toward  heaven,  his  long,  lean, 
consumed  arms  out  of  the  bed,  his 
hands  upon  his  breast,  laid  in  cross 
one  upon  the  other,  about  twelve 
o'clock  at  noon,  in  a  most  sweet  man- 
ner, without  any  sign  of  grief  or 
groan,  only  turning  his  head  a  little 
aside  as  one  falling  into  a  pleasing 
sleep,  he  surrendered  his  soul  into  the 
hands  of  God  who  to  his  OAvn  glory 


had  created  it.  And  she  who  writeth 
this  letter,  she.  who  loved  him  since 
her  most  early  years — who  when  he 
was  estranged  from  her  waited  his  re- 
turn— who  gloried  in  his  virtues, 
doated  on  his  perfections,  endured  his 
afflictions,  and  now  lamenteth  his 
death,  hath  nothing  left  but  to  live  a 
widow ;  indeed  with  no  other  glory 
than  that  which  she  doth  borrow  from 
his  merits,  until  such  time  as  it  ghall 
please  God  to  take  her  from  this  earth 
to  a  world  where  he  hath  found,  she 
doth  humbly  hope,  rest  unto  his  soul." 

The  Countess  of  Arundel  is  now 
aged.  The  virtues  which  have  crown- 
ed her  mature  years  are  such  as  her 
youth  did  foreshadow.  My  pen  would 
run  on  too  fast  if  it  took  up  that 
theme.  This  only  will  I  add,  and  so 
conclude  this  too  long  piece  of  writ- 
ing— she  hath  kept  her  constant  re- 
solve to  live  and  die  a  widow.  I  have 
seen  many  times  letters  from  both 
Protestants  and  Catholics  which  made 
unfeigned  protestations  that  they  were 
never  so  edified  by  any  as  by  her. 
As  the  Holy  Scriptures  do  say  of  that 
noble  widoAv  Judith,  "Not  one  spoke 
an  ill  word  of  her,"  albeit  these  times 
are  extremely  malicious.  For  mine 
own  part  I  never  read  those  words  of 
Holy  Writ,  "  Who  shall  find  a  valiant 
woman  ?"  and  what  doth  follow,  but  I 
must  needs  think  of  Ann  Dacre,  the 
wife  of  Philip  Howard,  earl  of  Arun- 
del and  Surrey. 


After  the  lapse  of  some  years,  it 
hath  been  my  hap  to  have  a  sight  of 
this  manuscript,  the  reading  of  which, 
even  as  the  writing  of  it  in  former 
days,  doth  cause  me  to  live  over  again 
my  past  life.  This  lapse  of  time  hath 
added  nothing  notable  except  the 
dreadful  death  of  Hubert,  my  dear 
Basil's  only  brother,  who  suffered  last 
year  for  the  share  he  had,  or  leastways 
was  judged  to  have,  in  the  Gunpowder 
Plot  and  treason.  Alas !  he  which 
once,  to  improve  his  fortunes,  denied 
his  faith,  when  fortune  turned  her  back 


274 


Constance  Sherwood. 


upon  him  grew  Into  a  virulent  hatred 
of*  those  in  power,  once  his  friends  and 
tempters,  and  consorted  with  despe- 
rate men;  whether  he  was  privy  to 
their  counsels,  or  only  familiar  with 
them  previous  to  their  crimes,  and  so 
fell  into  suspicion  of  their  guilt,  God 
knoweth.  It  doth  appear  from  some 
good  reports  that  he  died  a  true  pen- 
itent. There  is  a  better  hope  me- 
thinks  for  such  as  meet  in  this  world 
with  open  shame  and  suffering  than 
for  secret  sinners  who  go  to  their 
pompous  graves  unchastised  and  un- 
absolved. 

By  his  brother's  death  Basil  re- 
covered his  lands ;  for  his  present 
majesty  hath  some  time  smce  recalled 
the  sentence  of  his  banishment.  And 
many  of  his  friends  have  moved  him 
to  return  to  England;  but  for  more 
reasons  than  one  he  refused  so  much 
as  to  think  of  it,  and  has  compounded 
his  estate  for  £700,  8s.  6d. 

Our  children  have  now  grown  unto 
ripe  years.  Muriel  (who  would  have 
been  a  nun  if  she  had  followed  her 
godmother's  example)  is  now  married, 
to  her  own  liking  and  our  no  small 
contentment,  to  a  very  commendable 


young  gentleman,  the  son  of  Mi 
Yates,  and  hath  gone  to  reside  with 
him  at  his  seat  in  Worcestershire ; 
and  Ann,  Lady  Arundel's  god-daugh- 
ter, nothing  will  serve  but  to  be  a 
"  holy  Mary,"  as  the  French  people 
do  style  those  dames  which  that  great 
and  good  prelate,  M.  de  Geneve,  hath 
assembled  in  a  small  hive  at  Annecy, 
like  bees  to  gather  honey  of  devotion 
in  the  garden  of  religion.  This  should 
seem  a  strange  fancy,  this  order  being 
so  new  in  the  Church,  and  the  place 
so  distant ;  but  time  will  show  if  this 
should  be  God's  will ;  and  if  so,  then 
it  must  needs  be  ours  also. 

What  liketh  me  most  is  that  my  son 
Roger  doth  prove  the  very  image  of 
his  father,  and  the  counterpart  of  him 
in  his  goodness.  I  am  of  opinion  that 
nothing  better  can  be  desired  for  him 
than  that  he  never  lose  so  good  a 
likeness. 

And  now  farewell,  pen  and  ink, 
mine  old  companions,  for  a  brief  mo- 
ment resumed,  but  with  a  less  steady 
hand  than  heretofore ;  now  not  to  be 
again  used  except  for  such  ordinary 
purposes  as  housewifery  and  friend- 
ship shall  require. 


APPENDIX, 


CHAPTER    I. 

1.  Chaucer  has  described  the  Feast  of  May  in 
the  following  verses : 

"  — Forth  goth  all  the  court,  both  most  and  lest. 
To  fetch  the  floures  fresh,  and  braunch  and 

blome; 
And,  namely,  hawthorne  brought  both  page  and 

grome, 
And  then  rejoysen  in  their  great  delite. 
Eke  at  each  other  threw  the  floures  bright, 
The  primerose.  the  violete,  and  the  gold. 
With  fresh  garlands,  party  blew  aiia  white." 

Court  of  Love. 

Philip  Stubbs,  the  Puritan,  denounces  the  May 
Day  Festival  in  no  measured  language. 

"Against  May  Day  every  parish,  town,  or  vil- 
lage, assemble  themselves,  both  men,  women, 
and  children,  and  go,  some  to  the  woods  and 
groves,  some  to  hills  and  mountains,  some  to  one 
place,  some  to  another,  where  they  spend  all  the 
night  in  pleasant  pastimes,  and  in  the  morning 
they  return,  bringing  with  them  birchen  boughs 
and  branches  of  trees  to  deck  their  assemblies 
withal.  But  the  chiefest  jewel  they  bring  from 
thence  is  the  may-pole,  their  idol  rather,  which 
they  bring  home  with  great  veneration,  and  cover 
it  with  flowers  and  herbs,  bound  round  with 
string  from  the  top  to  the  bottom,  and  sometimes 
it  is  painted  with  variable  colours,  and  hundreds 
of  men,  women,  and  children  follow  it  with  great 
devotion.  And  thus  equipped  it  was  reared  with 
flags  streaming  on  the  top ;  they  strewe  the 
ground  round  about  it,  they  bind  green  boughs 
about  it,  they  set  up  summer  halls,  bowers,  and 
arbours  hard  byit.  and  then  fall  they  to  banqueting 
and  feasting,  to  leaping  and  dancing  about  it,  as 
the  heathen  people  did  at  the  dedication  of  their 
idol."—*'  Anatomy  of  Abuses." 

2.  A  custom  prevailed  in  England  during  the 
eixteenth  century  of  presenting  children  \?ith 
eggs  stained  with  various  colors  in  boiling,  term- 
ed paste,  or  properly  pasche,  eggs.  This  obser- 
vance appears  to  have  arisen  from  the  idea  that 
eggs  were  an  emblem  of  the  resurrection.  In  the 
ritual  of  Pope  Paul  the  Fifth,  composed  for  the 
use  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  there  is  a 
prayer  for  the  consecration  of  eggs,  in  which  the 
faithful  servants  of  the  Lord  are  directed  to  eat 
his  creature  of  eggs  in  remembrance  of  the  Resur- 
rection. On  this  custom  Mr.  Brand  has  observed 
that,  "If  the  resurrection  of  the  body  had  been  a 
tenet  of  the  faith  of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  they 
would  have  thought  an  egg  no  inappropriate 
bieroglyphical  representation  of  it.  The  exclusion 
of  a  living  creature  by  incubation  after  the  vital 
princlpe  has  lain  a  long  while  dormant  or  ex- 
tinct is  a  process  so  truly  marvellous,  that,  if  it 
could  be  disbelieved,  would  bo  thought  by  sonfte 
a  thing  as  incredible,  as  that  the  Author  of  life 
should  be  able  to  reanimate  the  dead."  So  pre- 
valent was  the  custom  of  egg-giving  at  Easter, 
that  it  forms  the  basis  of  an  old  English  proverb, 
"ru  warrant  yon  for  an  egg  at  Easter." — "  Shake- 
speare and  his  Times." 

3.  Lady  Mounteagle.— This  lady  was  daughter 
of  one  Mr.  Preston,  a  gentleman  of  note  in  Lan- 
cashire, and  was  married  first  to  Sir  James  La- 
bourn,  by  whom  she  had  two  daughters,  the 
i-econd  of  which  married,  first,  Thomas,  Lord 
Dacre  of  the  North,  and  afterwards  Thomas 
Uoward.  Duke  of  Norfolk.  Her  daughters  per- 
ceiving the  great  prudence  and  care  she  had  used 


in  the  education  of  themselves,  prevailed  with 
her  to  undertake  also  the  education  of  the'r 
daughters,  which  she  performed  with  such  dili- 

fence  and  discretion,  that  though  they  Avero 
ut  young  when  she  died,  yet  they  received  so 
much  good  from  that  short  education,  that  they 
enjoyed  great  advantages  by  it  all  their  lifetime. 
— "The  Life  of  the  Lady  Anne,  Countess  of 
Arundel  and  Surrey,"  published  by  the  late  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  from  a  manuscript  at  Norfolk  House. 

4.  Mr.  James  Labourn.— This  gentleman  was  a 
son  of  Sir  James  Labourn  and  of  the  above-men- 
tioned Lady  Mounteagle.  In  the  year  1583  ho 
was  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered  at  Lancaster, 
for  denying  the  Queen's  supremacy.  "And 
touching  the  said  Labourn,  we  have  given  order 
to  her  Majesty's  Council  to  consider  now  far  the 
law  will  reach  unto  him  for  his  lewd  and  sediti- 
ous speeches  uttered  against  her  Majesty  and  the 
state  of  Government,  The  insolence  and  dis- 
obedience of  him  and  others  in  those  parts  doih 
seem  much  to  increase,  which  requireth  a  dili- 
gent care  to  be  had  of  their  doings." — The  Lords 
and  others  of  the  Council  to  Lord  Derby,  etc. 

5.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk.— Thomas  Howard, 
fourth  Luke  of  Norfolk,  born  March  19,  1536, 
succeeded  his  grandfather  in  the  dukedom  in 
1554,  was  arraigned  on  charge  of  treason  January 
16, 1572,  and  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill  the  second 
of  June  following. 

6.  "Nurse  told  me  I  was  to  marry  my  Lord 
William,  and  Madge  my  Lord  Thomas,  and  tht-e. 
Nan,  my  Lord  Surrey,  and  brother,  pretty  Meg 
Howard." 

"  She  (the  third  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  widow  of 
the  Lord  Dacre  of  the  North)  having  one  son  and 
three  daughters,  the  duke  intended  to  have  mar- 
ried his  daughter,  the  Lady  Margaret,  to  the 
young  Lord  Dacre,  and  his  three  sons  to  her  three 
daughters,  but  Lord  Dacre  was  accidentally 
killed  by  the  fall  of  a  vaulting-horse  at  Thetford, 
and  his  sister  Mary  died  in  her  childhood.  The 
two  other  marriages  took  place,'  — "  Life  of  the 
Earl  of  Arundel  and  Surrey," 

CHAPTER  II. 

1.  Sir  Thomas  More. — Some  of  his  sayings  de- 
scriptive of  his  mode  of  lile.— From  "The  Life 
and  Death  of  the  Most  Illustrious  Sir  Thomss 
More,  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England."  By 
Thomas  Roper,  Esq.,  p.  82, 

2.  The  fashion  in  which  Christmas  was  kept 
in  a  Catholic  houstSiold  in  the  sixteenth  century. 
— From  "The  Life  of  Mrs.  Dorothy  Lawson," 
published  by  her  descendant,  Sir  William  Law- 
son,  Bart, 

3.  Death  of  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk  (widow  of 
Lord  Dacre  of  the  Norih).— '  Life  of  the  Countess 
of  Arundel." 

4.  Mr.  Martin. — "Life  of  Lord  Arundel,"  p. ',;. 

5.  Mrs,  Fawcett.— Ditto,  p.  8. 

G.  The  King  of  Spain,  Lord  Arundel's  godfa- 
ther.—"He  was  baptized  a  few  days  after  his 
birth  in  the  chapel  of  the  Queen's  palace  at, 
Whitehall,  the  King,  Queen,  and  all  the  principal 
persons  of  the  Court  being  there  present.  His 
godfathers  were  the  King  Philip  himself,  of  whom 
he  received  his  riame;  and  his  grandfather,  the 
Earl  of  Arundel."— Ditto,  p.  5. 

"It  happened  that  the  Earl  in  his  discourses 
did  sometimes  manifest  much  aflfection  to  the 
King  of  .Spain,  not  only  in  regard  of  the  obliga- 
tion and  duty  he  bore  unto  him  as  being  his  god- 


2'j6 


Appendix. 


father,  but  also  because  in  these  times  he  was  a 
chief  maintainer  aud  defender  of  the  Catholic  re- 
ligion."'— "Life  of  Lord  Arundel,"  p.  81. 

I.  Marriage;  o--,  Public  Betrothal  of  Lord  Sur- 
rey.— "  As  soon  as  he  (Lord  Surrey)  came  to  the 
age  of  twelve  years  complete,  he  was,  by  the  ap- 
pointment of  his  father  and  his  own  free  consent, 
publicly  married  or  betrothed  to  Mrs.  Ann  Dacre, 
eldest  daughter  and  heir  of  the  Lord  Dacre  of  the 
North."— Ditto,  p.  10. 

8.  Lord  Surrey's  good  memory. — Ditto,  p.  127. 

9.  Henry  Jjitzallau,  last  Karl  of  Arundel  of  that 
name.—"'  He  feared  God,  did  good  to  many,  and 
Avas  not  the  harmer  of  any.  ...  He  was  in 
mind  of  the  noblest  sort,  rather  to  be  wished  for 
in  a  king  than  to  be  found  in  almost  any  subject ; 
aud  yet  ordered  in  such  manner  as  both  his 
humour  in  that  regard  was  bountifully  supplied, 
and  such  as  he  left  for  heirs  nobly  remembered." 
— "Manuscript  Life  of  Henry*,  Earl  of  Arundel, 
written  by  his  Chaplain."  In  the  British  Museum. 

10.  Mary,  Duchess  of  Norfolk.— Her  virtues 
and  accomplishments. — "  Life  of  the  Earl  of 
Arundel,"  p.  2. 

II.  According  to  Bishop  Goodqjati,  Leicester 
never  forgot  the  box  on  the  ear  which  Norfolk 
had  once  bestowed  on  him. — "Life  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,"  by  Miss  A.  Strickland,  p.  292. 

CHAPTER  III. 

1.  Mrs.  Marga:«;t  Clithero.— "  On  the  25th  of 
March  of  this  or  the  foregoing  year  (1586),  Mrs. 
Margaret  Clithero,  whose  maiden  name  was 
Middleton,  a  gentlev^oman  of  good  family  in 
Yorkshire,  was  pressed  to  death  at  York.  She 
was  prosecuted  under  the  violent  persecution 
raised  at  that  time  by  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon, 
Lord  President  of  the  North.  The  offence  she 
was  charged  with  was  relieving  and  harbouring 
jiriests.  She  refused  to  plead,  that  she  might  not 
bring  others  into  danger  by  her  conviction,  or  be 
accessary  to  the  jurymen's  sins  in  condemning 
I  he  innocent.  Aud  therefore,  as  the  law  ap- 
points in  fcuch  cases,  she  was  pressed  to  death. 
She  bore  this  cruel  torment  with  invincible 
patience,  often  repeating  on  the  way  to  execu- 
tion that '  thi^  way  to  heaven  was  as  short  as  any 
t»ther.'  Her  husband  was  forced  into  banish- 
ment. Her  little  children,  who  wept  and  la- 
mented for  their  mother,  were  taken  up,  and 
being  questioned  touching  their  religion,  and 
answering  as  they  had  been  taught  by  her,  were 
severely  whipped,  and  the  eldest,  who  was  but 
twelve  years  old,  was  cast  into  prison.  Mrs. 
Clithero's  life  was  written  by  the  reverend  and 
learned  Mr.  John  Mush,  her  director,  who,  alter 
many  years  labouring  in  the  English  Mission 
with  great  fruit,  after  having  suffered  prisons 
and  chains,  and  even  received  the  sentence  of  hia 
death  for  his  faith,  was  reprieved,  and  died  in 
his  bed,  in  a  good  old  age,  in  1617."— "Memoirs 
of  Missionary  Priests,"  by  the  Right  Rev.  Rich- 
ard Challoner. 

2.  Queen  Elizabeth's  Warning  to  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk.—"  Before  her  Highness  came  to  Thorn- 
ham,  she  commanded  me  to  sit  down,  most  un- 
worthy, at  her  Highness's  board,  where,  at  the 
end  of  dinner,  her  Majesty  gave  me  a  nip,  saying, 
'  that  she  would  wish  me  to  take  good  heed  to 
my  pillow.'"  — "The  Duke  of  Norfolk's  Con- 
fession, State  Papers,  MSS." 

3.  Lines  by  Queen  Elizabeth.— Tradition  affirms 
that  Queen  Elizabeth  wrote  these  linep,  when  a 
prisoner  in  her  Bister's  lifetime,  on  a  shutter, 
with  a  piece  of  charcoal.  This  piece  of  poetry 
ends  with  the  not  very  Christian  wish,  "  So  God 
tend  to  my  foes  all  they  have  brought." 

4.  Palamon  and  Arcites— Play  acted  before 
Queen  Elizabeth  at  Oxford.— The  author  of  this 
play  was  Richard  Edward3,ma8ter  of  the  children 
v.f  her  Majesty's  Chapel  Royal. 

5.  Henry  Lord  Arundel's  Dislike  to  Foreign 
Languages.- "Tell  the  prince  that  I  like  to  speak 
in  that  language  in  which  I  can  best  utter  my 
mind  and  not  mistake."-"  Munuscript  Life  ol 
Henry,  Earl  of  Arundel,  at  Norfolk  House." 


6.  The  Queen's  Visit  to  Oxford  — "  There  boys 
in  very  truth  are  ready  to  leap  out  of  the  win- 
dows."—Anthony  a  Wood,  "  Aih.  Ox." 

7.  The  Queen's  Impatience  at  Dr.  Westpha- 
ling's  Oration.— Harrington's  "  Nugie  Antiqme." 

8.  Torture  ordered  to  be  used  bj'  Queen  Eliza- 
beth.—"If  they  shall  not  seem  to  confess  to  you 
plainly  their  knowledge,  then  we  warrant  you  to 
cause  them  both,  or  either  of  them,  to  be  brought 
to  the  rack,  and  first  to  move  them,  with  lear 
thereof,  to  deal  plainly  in  their  answers;  and  if 
that  shall  not  move  them,  to  give  them  the  taste 
thereof  until  they  shall  deal  more  plainly,  or 
until  you  shall  think  meet."  The  comment  on 
this  royal  order  is  contained  in  a  letter  from  Sir 
Thomas  Smith  to  Lord  Burleigh:  "I  suppose 
we  have  gotten  so  much  at  this  lime  as  is  likely 
to  be  had,  yet  to-morrow  we  do  intend  to  bring 
a  couple  of  them  to  the  rack,  not  in  any  hope  to 
get  anything  worth  that  pain  and  fear,  but  be- 
cause it  is  so  earnestly  commanded  to  us."— 
"Letter  of  Warrant  addressed  to  Sir  Thomas 
Smith  and  Dr.  Wilson,"  MS.  Cotton.  Calig.  c. 
iii.  fol.  229. 

9.  Since  I  be  titled  Countess  of  Surrey,  Bess 
must  needs  be  styled  My  Lady  William  Howard. 
—•'Lord  William  Howard  and  Mistress  Eliza- 
beth Dacre  were  nearly  of  the  same  age,  were 
brought  up  together,  and  destined  for  each  other 
from  early  life.  Their  mutual  affection  appears 
to  have  been  most  sincere  and  persevering,  and 
they  died  within  one  year  of  each  other,  he  at 
the  age  of  seventy-seven,  she  in  her  seventy-fifth 
year.  They  were  married  when  about  fourteen. 
During  the  long  period  of  their  lives  his  atten- 
tion to  her  seems  not  ever  to  have  varied  or 
abated.  In  his  accounts  there  are  a  number  of 
presents  to  her,  even  to  decorate  her  person  at  an 
advanced  age,  and  he  had  her  picture  taken  when 
she  was  seventy- three  years  of  age,  by  the  best 
painter  then  known.  To  judge  from  her  por- 
traits, though  she  was  not  so  regular  a  beauty  as 
her  sister,  the  Countess  of  Arundel,  she  may  yet 
be  deented  handsome,  and  her  countenance  is 
sprightly  and  intelligent." — "  Memorials  of  the 
Howards." 

10.  Lady  Westmoreland.—"  Jane,  Countess  of 
Westmoreland,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Henry, 
Earl  of  Surrey,  a  lady  of  great  virtue  and  acquire- 
ments, accompanied  with  such  gentle  feminine 
manners,  sense,  and  aftectionate  love  of  her 
family  and  her  duties,  that  had  her  father  lavished 
on  her  all  the  praise  of  the  imaginary  Geraldine, 
he  could  scarce  have  made  her  more  interesting 
than  what  has  been  written  of  her  by  Robert 
Constable,  the  vile  betrayer  of  the  Earl  of  West- 
moreland. -  He,  availing  himself  of  the  earl's  con- 
fidence, obtained  his  signet  as  an  introduction  to 
his  lady  with  an  intent  to  make  her  unwittingly 
an  assistant  in  the  snare  he  had  laid  for  the  ruin 
and  death  of  her  husband.  When  the  insurrec- 
tion in  which  the  Earls  of  Northumberland  and 
Westmoreland  and  many  other  noblemen  had  en- 
gaged came  to  an  untimely  end,  and  a  meeting 
of  those  concerned  in  it  brake  up,  and  each  man 
departed,  providing  for  himself,  my  Lady 
Westmoreland,  hearing  that  conclusion,  wept 
bitterly,  and  said,  'We  and  our  country  are 
shamed  for  ever,  that  now  in  the  end  we  should 
seek  holes  to  creep  into.'  "— "  Memorials  of  the 
Howards." 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Treatment  of  recusants  with  regard  to  the 
searching  of  their  houses. 

"In  the  year  1575,  in  the  month  of  %ine,  Ihc 
Bishop  of  Exeter  being  in  his  visitation  to  Truro, 
was  requested  by  Mr.  Greenfield,  the  slifrift'  of 
the  county,  and  other  busy  men,  to  aid  and  assist 
them  to  search  Mr.  Tregian's  house,  where  Mr. 
Maine  did  lie.  Alter  some  deliberation,  it  was 
concluded  that  the  shcrift'and  tlio  bishop's  chan- 
cellor, with  divers  gentlemen  and  their  servants, 
should  take  the  matter  in  hand.  As  soon  as 
they  came  to  Mr.  Tregian's  house,  the  sheriff 
first  spoke  to  him,  saying  that  he  and  his  com- 


Appendix, 


277 


pany  were  come  to  search  for  one  Mr.  Bourne, 
who  had  committed  a  fault  in  London,  and  so 
fled  into  Cornwall,  and  was  in  his  house,  as  he 
was  informed.  Mr.  Tregian  answering  that  lie 
was  not  there,  and  further  telling  him  that  to 
have  his  house  searched  he  thought  it  great  dis- 
courtesy, for  that  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  that 
they  had  no  commission  from  the  Queen ;  the 
sheriff  ewore  by  all  the  oaths  he  could  devise 
that  he  would  search  his  house,  or  else  that  he 
would  kill  or  be  killed,  holding  his  hand  upon 
his  dagger.  This  violence  being  used,  he  had 
leave  to  search  the  house.  The  first  place  they 
went  to  was  Mr.  Maine's  chamber,,  which  being 
fast  shut,  they  bounced  and  beat  at  the  door. 
Mr.  Maine  came  and  opened  it  (being  before  in 
the  garden,  where  he  might  have  gone  from  them). 
As  soon  as  the  sheriff  came  into  the  chamber,  he 
took  Mr.  Maine  by  the  bosom,  and  said  to  him, 
•  What  art  thou  V  '  A  man,'  he  answered.  Where- 
at the  sheriff  asked  if  he  had  a  coat  of  mail  under 
his  doublet,  and  so  unbuttoned  it,  and  found  an 
AgQus  Dei  case  about  his  neck,  which  he  took 
from  him,  and  called  him  traitor,  rebel,  and 
many  other  opprobrious  names.  They  carried 
him,  his  books,  papers,  and  letters  to  the  bishop, 
and  thence  from  one  gentleman's  house  to  an- 
other, till  he  came  to  Launceston,  where  he  was 
cruelly  imprisoned,  being  chained  to  his  bed- 
posts, with  a  pair  of  great  gyves  above  his  legs, 
and  strict  command  given  that  no  man  should  re- 

Jair  to  him.  Thus  he  remained  in  prison  from 
une  to  Michaelmas,  at  which  time  the  judges 
came  their  circuit." — Challoner's  ''Records  of 
Missionary  Priests." 

CHAPTER  VI. 

1.  Lady  Mounteagle's  Death. — "Life  of  the 
Countess  of  Arundel  and  Surrey,  p.  171. 

2.  Bees,  their  delight  in  aweet  music. — This 
singular  fact  (?)  and  the  description  of  what  the 
author  calls  a  little  commonwealth  of  nature,  are 
taken  from  "Euphues,"  a  novel  of  the  sixteenth 
century.- 

3.  The  Lady  Godiva— The  Pageants  of  Coventry 
—Their  Celebrity.— '•  Even  that  class  of  anti- 
quaries who  so  much  delight  in  destroying  for 
other  people  the  enjoyments  they  cannot  appre- 
ciate themselves,  have  been  unable  with  all  their 
researches  to  do  more  with  the  story  of  the  Lady 
Godiva  than  confiim  it.  On^e  undeniable  evi- 
dence is  as  good  as  a  thousand ;  such  a  one  la 
furnished  by  the  inscription  that  formerly  existed 
in  a  window  at  Coventry,  set  up  in  the  reign  of 
Richard  II.    Thus  it  ran  : 

I,  Luriche,  for  the  love  of  thee, 
Do  make  Coventry  toll  free. 
Pageants  were  carried  to  a  higher  pitch  of 
splendour  in  Coventry  than  in  any  other  part  of 
England,  unless  the  Chester  plays  may  be  con- 
sidered an  exception.  The  king  and  Royal 
family,  the  nobles  and  chief  ecclesiastical  digni- 
taries of  England,  were  usually  present,  with  a 
host  of  strangers  from  different  parts  of  the  king- 
dom."—" Old  England,"  vol.  i. 

6.  Mr.  Weston,  a  religious  priest  of  the  Society 
of  Jesus,  well  known  iu  England  by  the  name  of 
Father  Edmond.  He  suffered  seventeen  years' 
imprisonment  in  the  Tower  of  London,  Wisbeach, 
and  other  places,  for  the  profession  of  the  Catho- 
lic religion, 

7.  Lord  Morley.— June  8, 1570,  Bruges.  Harry, 
Lord  Morley,  to  the  Queen.  Beseeches  her  not 
to  entertain  any  doubt  of  his  loyalty  on  account 
of  his  leaving  the  kingdom.  He  knows  the 
malice  of  the  Lord  Keeper  and  Mr.  Secretary 
against  him.  Solicits  permission  for  his  wile 
and  children  to  join  him.— State  Papers. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

1.  The  scent  of  Roses  from  the  Bishop's  Gar- 
den.—When  the  Bishop  of  Ely,  at  the  Queen's 
command,  surrendered  the  gate-house  of  his 
palace,  and  several  acres  of  laud  (now  Hattou 


Garden),  he  reserved  to  himself  and  his  succes- 
sors the  right  of  access  through  the  gatehouse,  ol 
walking  in  the  garden,  and  leave  to  gather  twenty 
bushels  of  roses  yearly  therein. 

2.  Mr.  Swithin  Wells.— He  was  the  sixth  son  ol 
Thomas  Wells,  of  Brambridge,  near  Winchester. 
The  particulars  of  his  life  and  of  his  death  are 
taken  from  the  "  Life  of  Edmund  Gening.-,"  und 
a  manuscript  history  by  Dr.  Champney. 

3.  Richmondshire.— Order  for  executions  after 
the  rising  in  the  North.  The  Earl  of  Sussex  t  > 
Sir  George  Bowes. 

"  Sir  Gborgb  Bowes,- I  have  set  the  numbers 
to  be  executed  in  every  town,  as  I  did  in  yoiir 
other  book  which  draweth  near  to  two  hundred  : 
wherein  you  may  use  your  discretion  in  taking 
more  or  less  in  every  town,  as  you  shall  see  jusr, 
cause  for  the  offences,  and  fitness  for  example ; 
so  as  in  the  whole  you  pass  not  of  all  kind  of 
such  the  number  of  two  hundred,  amongst  whom 
you  may  not  execute  any  that  hath  freeholds,  or 
noted  wealthy,  for  so  is  the  Queen's  Majesty's 
pleasure.  By  her  special  commandment,  10th  of 
January,  1569." 

4.  Lady  Mary  Howard.—"  Lady  Mary  Howard, 
her  Majesty's  near  relative,  and  the  Court  beauty 
withal,  was  the  envied  possessor  of  the  rich 
velvet  kirtlewith  the  costly  border,  which  Eliza- 
beth had  taken  a  whimsical  method  of  admonish- 
ing her  not  to  wear  any  more." — "Life  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,"  p.  611. 

5.  Pecora  Campi.— "  Queen  Elizabeth  gave  Sir 
Christopher  Haiton  various  pet  names,  such  as 
'her  sheep,'  'her  mutton,'  'her  belwether,'  her 
'  Pecora  Campi,'  and  her  '  lids,'  meaning  eyelids, 
to  which  she  occasionally  added  the  flattering 
appellation  of  her  "  sweet  lids.'  He  was  indebt- 
ed for  his  good  fortune  to  his  fine  person,  insinu- 
ating manners,  and  graceful  dancing." — "  Life  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,"  p.  312. 

6.  Queen  Elizabeth's  Letter  to  the  Bishop  of 
Ely.— "Life  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  p.  314. 

7.  The  Reason  of  the  Queen's  Aversion  to  the 
Bishop  of  Ely.— It  was  this  Bishop  of  Ely  who  re- 
monstrated '  with  Elizabeth  for  retaining  the 
crucifix  and  lighted  tapers  in  her  chapel,  for 
which  she  never  forgave  him." — "Life  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,"  p.  314. 

9.  Renewal  of  the  Marriage  Contract  of  Lord 
and  Lady  Surrey.— "Life  of  Lord  Arundel," 
p.  10. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

1.  Hl-treatraent  of  a  Prisoner. —  Mr.  John 
Cooper,  a  hopeful  young  man  of  a  good  family, 
designing  to  leave  England  for  the  sake  of  his 
religion,  and  to  follow  his  studies  abroad,  was 
stopped  at  the  sea-side,  sent  back  to  London, 
and  committed  close  prisoner  to  the  Beacham 
Tower.  Here,  partly  through  hunger  and  cold, 
he  became  delirious.  This  being  told  to  the 
Lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  he  ordered  his  bed  to  be 
taken  away,  which  some  friends  had  sent  him  in, 
that  he  might  lie  for  the  future  on  the  bare  floor, 
which  addition  to  his  former  sufferings  brought 
him  quickly  to  his  end  ;  and  for  a  token  that  he 
perished  through  barbarous  usage,  when  they 
pulled  off  his  slippers,  in  order  to  bury  him,  his 
flesh  stuck  to  them,  and  came  off  by  pieces  from 
the  bones.  —  Dr.  Bridgewater's  "  Concertatio 
Ecclesiae  Catholicag." 

2.  M.  de  la  Motte  Fenelon.  —  The  French 
Queen's  dwarfs. — "  Queen  Elizabeth's  Life,"  by 
Miss  A.  Strickland,  p.  409. 

3.  Mrs.  Arundell,  Maid  of  Honor.— The  Queen's 
treatment  of  her  with  regard  to  her  marriaoje.— 
"Queen  Elizabeth's  Life,"  by  Miss  Strickland, 
p.  412. 

4.  Edmund  Genings  becomes  page  to  a  Catho- 
lic gentleman. — "Life  of  Edmund  Genings,  by 
his  Brother. 

5.  Mr.  Hart. — Mr.  Hart  was  born  in  the  city  of 
Wells,  in  Somersetshire;  was  brought  up  at  Ox- 
ford ;  thence  passed  over  to  Douay,  and  after- 
wards to  the  English  College  at  Rome  ;  was  made 
priest  there,  and  sent  on  the  English  Mission. 


2/8 


Appendix. 


After  gome  years  he  was  arrested  at  York,  tried, 
and  executed  in  that  city  in  1582.  "  This  Mr. 
Hart  was  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  lor 
being  a  Eomish  priest."  —  Wood's  'Athecse 
Oxon.,"p.  214. 

fi.  Eliot.— George  Eliot  belonged  to  a  respect- 
able Catholic  family.  For  several  years  he  was  a 
."crvaut  To  Mr.  Thomas  Roper,  grandson  of  bir 
'1  homas  More.  Having  committed  a  grave  offence 
;ig>*in=t  morality,  he  left  his  master.  Mr.  Paine, 
;i  priest,  whom  he  applied  to  in  London,  having 
reiused  to  marry  him  under  forbidden  conditions 
t  1  ilie  person  he  had  seduced,  he  went  straight 
t )  the  Secretary  of  State,  Sir  Francis  Walsiug- 
iiam.  declared  himself  a  convert  to  Protestantism, 
and  offered  to  turn  to  the  account  of  the  Govern- 
ment his  knowledge  of  recusants'  houses  and  bis 
supposed  Catholicity.  By  means  of  his  acquaint- 
anceship with  the  cook  atLyford  House,  the  scat 
of  Mr.  Yates,  then  imprisoned  in  London  for 
Popish  contumacy,  he  managed  to  obtain  admis- 
sion into  the  chapel,  on  pretext  that  it  Avas  Sun- 
day, and  that  he  wished  to  fulfil  the  obligation  of 
hearing  Mass.  The  cook,  who  had  been  a  fellow- 
servant  of  his  at  Mr.  Roper's,  never  for  a  moment 
called  his  sincerity  into  question,  and  told  him, 
which  Eliot  did  not  know  for  certain,  that 
Father  Campion  M'as  in  the  house,  and  that  he 
was  in  luck,  lor  he  would  hear  him  preach  after 
Mass.  Elio;  went  into  the  chapel,  and  attended 
the  service  Avith  the  Queen's  Avarrant  in  his 
pocket,  was  seen  to  shed  tears  during  Father 
Campion's  eloquent  sermon,  in  Avhichhe  patheti- 
cally described  the  sufferings  of  Catholics,  and 
the  dangers  perpetually  hanging  i^ver  their  heads. 
Before  the  congregation,  composed  of  eighty 
persons,  Avithdrew  from  the  chapel,  Eliot  disap- 
peared, and  soon  returned  Avith  an  armed  force, 
Avhich  narrowly  searched  the  house.  Twice  in 
vain,  but  the  third  time,  Avhen  the  Queen's  offi- 
cers and  Eliot  Averc  about  to  retire  in  despair, 
the  latter  accidentally  struck  one  of  the  Avails  as 
he  passed  with  an  iron  bar  he  held  in  his  hand. 
'J'he  hollow  sound  the  bloAv  produced  revealed 
the  osi:-tence  of  the  priest's  hiding-place.  Orders 
AVtre  given  to  puil  doAvn  the  Avail,  and  Father 
(^'ampion  Avas  arrested.  hliot  carried  on  his 
nelaiious  trade  till,  sinking  into  the  loAvest 
d(;pihs  of  infamy,  he  Avas  scouted  even  by  his 
tinployers,  and  "died  a  miserable  death  in  a 
aruukeu  iray. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

1.  Edmund  Gcnings'  success  in  a  dangprous 
enterprise.— "  Life  of  E.  Genings,"  by  John 
Genings. 

2.  Roland  Jenks,  the  bookseller  at  Oxford. — 
The  folloAving  curious  account  of  the  disease 
which  broke  out  immediately  after  the  execution 
of  this  man's  sentence  is  given  by  Anthony  Wood 
in  his  "•  History  of  the  University  of  Oxford." 

"It  AA-as  ordered  in  the  Convocation  held  on 
the  Ist  of  May,  1577,  that  the  criminal,  Roland 
Jenks,  should  immedia^^ely  be  apprehended  and 
examined  before  the  Chancellor  of  the  University 
and  the  Queen's  Council.  In  the  meantime,  all 
his  goods  Avere  seized,  and  in  his  house  Avere 
lound  bull."  of  Popes  and  libe  s  reflecting  on  her 
Majesty,  He  Avas  brought  to  the  ))ar  at  Oxford, 
and  Avas  arraigned  lor  high  crimes  and  misde- 
meanours, and  being  found  guilty,  Avas  condemn- 
ed by  a  sentence  in  some  manner  C7;vi^rt/.  for  he 
was  to  lose  his  ears.  At  Avhich  time  (althougli 
my  soul  dreads  almost  to  relate  it)  so  sudden  a 
plague  inA-aded  the  men  that  were  present  ('he 
great  crowd  of  people,  the  violeit  heat  of  the 
i^ummer,  and  the  great  stench  of  the  prisoners  all 
C'Mippiring  together,  and  perhaps  also  a  poison- 
uiH  exhalation  breaking  suddenly  at  the  same 
ti'ne  out  ol  the  earth),  that  you  might  say  Death 
itself  sat  on  the  bench,  and  by  her  dednitive  sen- 
tence put  an  end  to  all  causes.  For  great  num- 
herrt  immediately  died  upon  the  spot;  others 
hri  uck  Avith  dtiath  hastened  out  of  ihe  court  as  last 
as  they  could,  to  die  Avithin  a  few  hon  s.  It  may 
uct  be  amiss  to  set  dOAvn  the  names  of  the  persona 


of  greatest  note  who  Avrrc  seized  by  that  plague. 
There  were  Sir  Robert  Bell,  Chief  Baron  of  the 
Exchequer,  and  Nicholas  Barham,  Serjeant-at- 
Law,  both  great  enemies  of  the  Popish  religion, 
which,  perhaps,  the  Romanists  Avill  lay  hold  of  as 
an  argument  to  their  cause,  but  I  desire  them  not 
to  search  too  narroAvly  into  the  secret  judgments 
of  God.  Avhen  Ave  are  at  a  loss  to  account  even  for 
those  things  which  are  revealed  in  Holy  Writ. 
To  the  above-named  must  be  added,  Sir  Robert 
Daylcy,  the  High  Sheriff  of  Oxford,  Mr.  Hart,  his 
deputy.  Sir  William  Babington,  Messrs.  Dayley, 
Wenman,  Danvers,  Petlyplace.  and  Harcourt, 
justices  of  the  peace ;  Kirby,  Green,  Nash,  and 
Foster,  gentlemen  ;  to  whom  are  to  be  joined,  to 
say  nothing  of  others,  almost  all  the  jurymen,  Avho 
died  within  tAvo  days." 

He  adds  out  of  the  register  of  Merton  College 
the  folloAving  account  olf  the  symptoms  of  this 
strange  disease.  '•  Some  getting  out  of  their  bed, 
agitated  Avith  I  knoAV  not  what  fury,  from  their 
distemper  and  pain  beat  and  drive  from  them 
their  keepers.  Others  run  abotit  the  yards  and 
streets  like  madmen,  others  jump  head  foremost 
into  dt-ep  waters.  The  sick  labor  AA'ith  a  most  vio- 
lent pain  both  of  the  head  and  stomach.  They  are 
taken  Avith  a  frenzy  ;  are  deprived  of  their  under- 
standing, sight,  hearing,  and  other  senses.  As  the 
dis''ase  increases  they  take  nothing — thej'  get  no 
sleep.  They  suffernone  to  tend  or  keep  them.  They 
are  Avonderfully  strong  and  robust  cA'en  in  death 
itself.  Mo  complexion  or  constitution  is  spared  ; 
but  the  choleric  are  more  particularly  attacked  by 
this  evil,  of  Avhich  the  physicians  can  neither  And 
the  cause  nor  cure.  The  stronger  a  person  is  the 
sooner  he  dies.  Women  are  not  seized  by  it, 
neither  the  poor,  neither  does  anyone  catch  it 
that  takes  care  of  the  sick,  or  visits  them.  But  as 
this  disease  AA'as  strangely  violent,  so  it  Avas  but 
of  short  continuance,  for  Avithin  a  month  it  was 
over."  The  substance  of  this  history  may  also  be 
found  in  Sir  Wichard  Bakers  "Chronicle,"  and 
in  Fuller's  "  Church  History,"  book  ix.,  p.  109. 

3.  Mr.  Churchyard.— The  poet  Churchyard  Avas 
an  old  retainer  of  the  Norfolk  family,  and  had  a 
peculiar  taste  and  talent  for  the  arrangement  of 
masks,  festivals,  and  pageants. 

4.  Catherine,  Lady  Berkeley,  Avas  the  second 
daughter  of  Henry.  Earl  of  murrey,  and  Sister  of 
Thomas,  fourth  IJuke  of  Norfolk.  In  Smythe's 
"History  of  the  Berkeley  Family,"  she  is  thus 
describpcl:  "Of  stature  this  lady  was  someAvhat 
tall,  of  complexion  lovely,  both  in  the  spring  and 
autumn  of  her  life :  her  hair  somewhat  yellowish, 
of  pace  the  most  steady  and  upright,  of  stomach 
great  and  haughty,  of  great  expense  and  bounty 
beyond  tlie  means  of  continuance,  of  speech 
passing  eloquent  and  ready,  Avhom  in  many 
years  1  could  never  observe  to  misplace  tr 
even  to  recall  one  mistaken  or  mispronounced 
word  or  syllable,  and  as  ready  and  significant 
with  her  pen  :  her  iuA-ention  as  quick  as  her  first 
thoughts,  and  her  Avords  as  ready  as  her  inven- 
vention ;  skilful  in  the  French,  but  perfect  in  the 
Italian  tongue.  At  the  lute  she  played  admirably, 
and  Avould  often  sin'j;  thereto  to  the  ravishment 
of  her  hearers,  so  that  her  husband,  her  servants, 
and  three  or  four  times  myself  have  secretly 
hearkened  under  her  Avindow.  In  the  first  twenty 
3  ears  after  hor  marriage  she  Avas  given  to  all  man- 
ner of  delights  beseeming  her  birth  and  calling; 
but  after  the  behcadii'g  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk, 
her  brother,  and  the  frowns  Avliich  the  State  Go- 
vernment had  cast  upon  the  rest  of  her  dearest 
kindred,  with  the  harsh  bcreavings.  or  rather 
Avrestings,  of  her  husband's  possessions;  then 
groAvn  toAvards  thirty-eight  or  forty  years,  she 
retired  herself  into  her  chamber  and  private 
Avalks,  gardcu,  park,  and  other  solitaries,  not 
])ermiitiug  any  of  her  house  to  come  nearer  to 
her  than  their  appointed  distances.  In  her  elder 
(lays  she  siave  herself  Avholly  to  the  study  of  Na- 
tural Ph'losophy  and  the  Latin  tongue." 

5.  Kdmuud  Campion,  born  in  London,  educated 
at  Christ  Church  IIosi)it  il,thc  i  sent  to  St  John's 
C;olU'ge,  Oxl<ird.  Avas  'vdained  d(!.scoii  by  Richard 
Chcuijy,  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  but  soou  utter  bu- 


Appendix. 


2/9 


came  a  Catholic,  partly  moved  thereunto  by  the 
arguments  and  persuasions  of  Mr.  Martin,  who 
had  been  tutor  to  Lord  Surrey,  travelled  into  Ire- 
land, whence  ho  escaped  in  disguise,  warned 
to  do  so  by  the  Viceroy  himself,  Sir  Henry  Syd- 
ney. Ue  secretly  passed  through  London  on  hi3 
way  to  Douay,  where  he  resolved  to  become  a 
Jesuit,  and  went  over  to  Rome.  Thence  he  was 
cent  into  Bohemia,  where  he  was  ordained  priest, 
and  -abcred  for  seven  years ;  at  the  end  -of  that 
time  I'.e  <£ame  to  England.  For  about  thirteen 
months  ae  exercised  his  ministry  in  London  and 
various  parts  of  the  country,  was  arrested  at  Ly- 
ford.  Mfc  Yates's  house,  and  thence  brought  to 
theTowcr  of  London,  where  he  suffered  a  cruel 
imprisonment,  and,  a  few  months  afterwards, 
was  executed  at  Ti-burn, 

t).  Burningof  Anabaptists.— "Fox  the  Martyr- 
ologist  wrote  an  eloquent  letter  to  Elizabeth, 
imploring  her  not  to  sully  the  annals  of  her  reign 
and  the  practice  of  the  Reformed  Church  by 
burning  for  heterodoxy.  His  Intercession  was 
unavailing  to  save  two  wretched  Dutch  Anabap- 
tists from  the  flames,  who  were  burnt  alive  June 
2:2d  at  Smithfield,  and  according  to  Stowe  died 
in  great  horror  with  roaring  and  crying." — Miss 
A.  Btrickland's  "Life  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  p. 
418. 

7.  Dr.  Cheney,  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  a  Protes- 
tant divine  of  learning,  piety,  and  singular  charm 
of  manners  and  conversation;  charitable  and 
compassionate.  A  Lutheran  in  his  creed,  and  a 
determined  opponent  of  the  Puritan  party.  He 
was  Edmund  Campion's  ardent  friend  and  patron, 
until  the  latter,  after  receiving  deacon's  orders 
from  him,  renounced  the  Anglican  Church  and 
became  a  Catholic. 


CHAPTER  X. 

1.  Edmund  Genings'  departure  from  England. 
—His  "  Life,"  by  John  Genings,  his  brother. 

2.  The  Dulie  of  Norfolk's  imprisonment  and 
execution.— "Life  of  the  Earl  of  Arundel"; 
••Biographies  of  the  Earls  of  Arundel,"  by  the 
Rev.  M.  Tierney. 

CHAPTER  XL 

1.  Lord  Surrey  goes  to  Cambridge,  and  receives 
no  small  detriment  by  the  bad  examples  he  has 
there.— "Life  of  Lord  Arundel  and  Surrey,"  p. 
11.    . 

2.  Fisher,  Bishop  of  Rochester.— "  Life  and 
Death  of  ihe  renowned  Juhn  Ficher,  Bishop  of 
Rochester,"  by  Thomas  Bayley,  D.D.,  pp.  230  and 

3.  Lady  Egerton  of  Ridley.— Sir  Christopher 
Hatton  to  Henry  Stanley,  Earl  of  Derby,  and 
William  Chaderton,  Bishop  of  Chester,  in  behalf 
of  the  Lady  Egerton  of  Ridley,  that  she  may  have 
further  liberty,  and  to  put  off  her  appearance  be- 
fore them  till  Michaelmas. 

"My  very  good  Lord  =<,— Whereas  the  Lady 
Egerton  of  Ridley  standeth  beundforher  appear- 
ance before  your  lordships  to  answer  such  matter 
as  she  is  charged  with  touching  her  dispositions 
in  religion ;  I  am  credibly  given  to  understand, 
that  albeit  she  hath  not  hitherto  conformed  her- 
self to  her  Majesty's  proceedings  upon  a  certam 
preciseness  of  conscience  incident  to  divers  of 
her  sex,  without  reason  or  measure  oftentimes  ; 
yet  in  other  respects  she  hath  always  showed 
herself  very  dutiful  and  of  good  behaviour ;  so  far 
forth  as  she  continually  entertaiueth  a  chaplain 
in  her  house,  who  usually  says  the' service  both 
for  her  household  and  neighbours  accoMing  to  her 
Majesty's  laws. 

"  I  am  further  informed,  the  gentlewoman  is 
very  aged  and  in  very  weak  disposition  of  health  ; 
troubled  oftentimes  witli  sundry  infirmities  ;  the 
which  of  late  are  much  increased  upon  her.  In 
consideration  whereof,  I  think  her  case  rather  to 
be  pitied,  and  that  haply  it  may  fall  to  better 
purpose  to  seek  to  reduce  her  by  a  mild  and  gen- 
tle course,  than  to  endanger  her  health  by  im- 
prisonment or  other  proceedings  against  her. 


"I  am  therefore  to  recommend  her  to  your 
Lordships'  favorable  considerations,  if  in  your 
wisdom  it  may  be  thought  convenient  to  be 
pleased  to  give  her  a  further  time  of  toleration 
until  Michaelmas  next,  in  hope  that  by  such 
convenient  means  as  in  that  space  may  be 
wrought,  she  may  be  brought  to  better  cou- 
formify. 

"  Wherein  what  course  it  shall  please  your 
Lordships  to  take  together  with  the  gutiit  of  this 
her  humble  request  (wherein  I  aoi  parnestJj- 
pressed  by  special  friends),  I  shall  thick  myseiV 
much  beholden  to  your  Lordships. 

"  Your  Lordships'  poor  friend,  most  assured. 
"Cur.  Hatton." 

Sir  Thomas  Bromley,  Lord  Chancellor,  writes 
to  the  same  effect : 

"  I  understand  that  the  Lady  Egerton  of  Rid- 
ley hath  been  convented  before  your  Lordships 
lor  disobedience  in  causes  of  religion.  I  am  soi- 
ry  that  either  through  her  own  simplicity,  or  by 
the  malice  of  any  secret  practisers,  she  should  be 
thus  misled  and  holden  in  blindness.  I  com- 
mend her  simplicity  to  your  Lordships,  and  to 
pray  you  to  use  some  further  toleration  with  her 
until  Michaelmas  next.  .  .  .  I  havealso  writ- 
ten unto  her  exhorting  her  to  frame  herself  to 
such  conformity  and  dutiful  obedience  to  her 
Majesty's  laws  as  becometh  her.  Wherein  I 
trust  my  words  will  work  some  good  effect.  ]f 
it  fall  out  otherwise  (as  I  hope  in  God  it  will  not), 
then  I  wish  the  law  should  proceed  against  hei', 
as  appcrtaineth."— Peck's  ''•Desiderata Curiosa," 
pp.  123  and  13(J. 

4.  The  impression  made  in  London  by  the  news 
of  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  the 
Queen's  kindness  to  La  Motte  Fenelon.— "De- 
pcches  de  la  Motte  Fenelon,"  p.  123. 

5.  Huguenot  cruelties  in  France. — The  fury  of 
the  religious  civil  wars  in  France  is  well  known. 
The  cruelties  committed  by  Catholics  have  been 
over  and  over  asrain  brought  forward,  but  those 
perpetrated  by  Huguenots  are  not  so  often  men- 
tioned. Yet  the  massacres  in  cold  blood  of  Ca- 
tholic prisoners,  the  burnings  of  churches,  the 
ravages  and  sacrileges  committed  in  eveiy  pro- 
vince where  they  obtained  the  ascendancj%  if 
they  are  not  so  startling  as  the  Massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew,  were  events  of  such  frequent  oc- 
currence, that  they  go  far  to  account  for  the 
popular  frenzy  which  seconded  and  exceeded  the 
orders  of  inhuman  rulers. 

On  neither  side  in  France  were  the  horrors 
committed  as  much  the  result  of  a  deliberate  sys- 
tem of  persecution  as  the  fruits  of  a  blind,  vio- 
lent party  spirit,  which  often  acted  irrespectively 
of  all  control.  On  both  sides  there  was,  on  the 
part  of  the  more  generous-minded  and  enlighten- 
ed partisans,  a  disavowal  of  theae  horrible  deeds. 

On  the  one  hand,  we  find  that,  when  the  Baroii 
des  Adrets  had  indulged,  at  Lyons  and  in  the 
Comte  Venaiesin,  in  cruelties  which  baffle  con- 
ception, such  as  throwing  at  one  place  two  hun- 
dred Catholic  prisoners,  who  had  surrendered  by 
capitulation,  from  a  wall  into  a  ditch,  his  own 
soldiers  receiving  them  as  they  fell  on  the  points 
of  their  bayonets;  and,  at  another  town,  com- 
pelling fifty  men,  to  whom  their  lives  had  been 
promised,  to  fling  themselves  oft'  the  tower  of  a 
church,  that  the  Prince  de  Conde  severely  repri- 
manded him,  and  superseded  him  in  the  govern- 
orship of  Lyons,  appointing  M.  de  Sauliere  in 
his  place,  which  caused  the  Protestant  general 
(who  had  up  to  that  time  detested  Catholics  to 
the  degree  that  he  made  his  two  sons  bathe  in 
the  blood  of  slaughtered  prisoners,  in  order  to  in- 
spire them  with  a  similar  hatred)  to  join  the 
Jjcague.  On  the  other  naiid,  we  hear  from  Bran- 
tome  that  the  Due  da  Guise,  on  his  deathbed, 
deeply  lamented  the  slaughter  of  fifty  or  sixty 
Protestants,  who  had  been  killed  at  Vassy  by  his 
soldiers,  though  the  conflict  had  arisen  in  an  acci- 
ddntal  manner,  at  the  door  of  one  of  their  con- 
venticles. Brantome  says :  "  At  his  de  ith"  (speak- 
ing of  the  Due  de  Guite)  '•  he  accused  himself  of 
this  slaughter,  taking  God  to  witness,  and  pray- 
ing he  might  not  be  saved  if  he  had  ever  intended 


28o 


Appendix. 


or  been  the  author  of  it ;  and  so,  considering  his 
share  in  it  as  very  trifling,  but  yet  because  blood 
had  been  shed,  he  accused  himself  of  it  to  God, 
and  begged  his  forgiveness.  I  heard  him  say 
this  with  mine  own  ears."  BrantOme  adds: 
'•  And  if  those— amongst  whom  was  the  Bishop  of 
Ricz— who  wrote  an  account  of  his  dying  speech- 
es omiited  this,  they  were  wrong,  for  It  clears 
liim  of  a  thing  which  he  had  been  much  blamed 
for. ' ' 

6.  Tortures  used  towards  Papists.— "  Alexander 
Brian  (priest),  because  he  M'ould  not  confess 
where  he  had  seen  Father  Parsons,  how  he  was 
maintained,  where  he  had  said  Mass,  and  whose 
confessions  he  had  heard,  they  caused  needles  to 
be  thrust  under  his  nails.  After  this  he  was, 
even  to  the  disjointing  of  his  body,  rent  and  torn 
upon  the  rack  because  he  would  not  confess  where 
tne  printing-press  was,  and  what  books  he  had 
sold,  and  so  was  returned  to  his  lodgings  for  that 
time;  yet  the  next  day  following,  notwithstand- 
ing the  great  distemperature  and  soreness  of  his 
whole  body,  he  was  brought  to  the  torture  again, 
and  there  stretched  with  greater  severity  than  be- 
fore, insomuch  that,  supposing  they  would  tear 
him  lo  pieces,  he  raised  his  mind  in  contempla- 
tion of  Christ's  bitter  passion,  resolving  to  die 
rather  than  to  hurt  any  creature  living.  He 
swooned  away,  so  that  they  Avere  forced  to  sprin- 
kle cold  water  in  his  face  to  revive  him,  yet  re- 
leased no  part  of  his  pain." — From  a  printed  ac- 
count of  Alexander  Brian's  life  and  death,  by  an 
eye-witness,  published  in  1582. 

This  is  but  one  out  of  the  many  narratives  to 
be  found  of  similar  barbarities  exercised  on  Ca- 
tholics, both  priests  and  laymen,  which  are  re- 
corded in  Challoner's  "Annals."  The  instances 
Mr.  Itoper  is  made  to  allude  to,  viz.,  the  treat- 
ment of  William  Tyrwhitt  and  of  Mark  Tupper, 
are  to  be  found  in  Dr.  Bridgewater's  "  Concerlatio 
liccle  iiB  Catholicai." 

■ihe  following  Extracts  from  letters  addressed 
by  the  lords  and  others  of  the  Queen's  Council  to 
llie  Earl  of  JJerby  and  the  Bishop  of  Chester, 
tifiord  a  specimen  of  the  galling  and  Insulting 
tyranny  to  which  imprisoned  recusants  were  sub- 
jected: '"Now  likewise,  forasmuch  as  Ave  cou- 
sidtr,  lirst,  that  if  the  said  recusants  be  all  com- 
mitted iu  one  p'ace,  the  burthen  of  their  diets 
would  be  more  easy  unto  their  keepers,  and  that 
one  preacher  appointed  to  confer  with  them  and 
instruct  them  for  1  heir  conformities  will  suffice 
if  they  be  all  in  one  place,  which  preachers  to  the 
end  that  they  may  attend  that  service  only,  are 
of  necessity  to  have  allowance  byway  of  pentiou, 
which  being  not  like  to  grow  out  of  the  purses  of 
the  prisoners,  who  are  so  few  in  number  able  to 
pay  their  own  charges,  therefore  is  to  be  borne 
in  some  other  manner.  We,  minding  that  this 
charge  of  the  pi'eacher  and  the  poorer  sort  of  pris- 
oners shall  be  taken  out  of  sucti  fines  as  are  and 
shall  be  levied  upon  the  recusants  of  the  same 
diocese,  do  think  it  most  tit  for  the  easing  of  the 
^aid  charges  that  all  the  prisoners  that  are  and 
.xhall  be  committed  for  obstinacy  in  religion  be 
paced  only  at  Manchester." 

••My  Lords,- Whereas  a  son*  of  Sir  John 
Southworth,  knight,  hath  oftentimes  repaired 
hither  to  be  a  suitor  for  his  father's  liberty  and 
better  usage  in  the  place  where  he  is  committed, 
forasmuch  as  we  have  been  informed  that  the 
cause  of  his  strait  keeping  proceedeth  from  the 
said  Sir  John  himself,  m  that  he  refuseth  to  be 

*  In  a  letter  from  Sir  Franc's  Walsingbam  to 
the  Bishop  of  Chester,  the  cause  of  Kir  John 
Southworth's  imprisonment  is  to  be  found.  A 
suspicion  was  entertained  that  that  gentleman  in- 
t3nded  to  difiuherit  ''his  eldest  and  best  son, 
who  was  not  111  afi'ectcd  like  his  bad  father, 
but  well  given  in  religion,  and  to  dispose  his 
lands  upon  some  oiher  of  his  children."  The 
bishop  is  desired  "  to  take  some  order  to  stay  his 
purpose."  The  ordtr  taken  api)ear8  to  have  been 
to  arrest  him  f.)r  recusancy,  and  keep  him  iu 
prison.— heck's  "Desiderata  Curiosd,"  book  iv. 
pp,  149, 145 :  and  book  iii.  p.  119. 


present  at  thanksgivings  unto  God  before  and  after 
meals,  and  at  the  readings  of  chapters  out  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament,  as  he  was  wont  to  do 
at  the  time  of  his  first  commitment.  Seeing  his 
son  hath  undertaken  here  that  his  father  shall  do 
that  which  he  at  firnt  did,  we  have  thought  good 
to  signify  so  much  unto  your  lordships,  and  prav 
you  to  inform  yourselves  whether  the  said  bir 
John  shall  be  contented  to  perform  so  much  as 
his  son  hath  promised  here.  And  if  he  will  do  it, 
and  put  in  good  assurance  to  be  a  true  prisoner, 
and  to  behave  himself  well  (viz.,  go  to  Protestant 
players  and  preaching),  that  your  lordships  may 
give  order  unto  Mr.  Worsley  only  to  take  13.*.  4rf. 
weekly  for  I  is  diet,  and  liberty  of  walking  at 
f-uch  convenient  times  as  your  lordships  sliall 
think  meet." 

9.  Conversation  between  Sir  Thomas  More  and 
Mr.  Roper.— "Life  of  Sir  Thomas  More,"  by  T. 
Roper,  i£sq.,  p.  30. 

10.  Dr.  Laiimer,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  his  letter 
to  the  Lord  Privy  Seal  upon  his  appointment  to 
preach  at  the  burning  of  Friar  Forest. 

"  Saluto  in  Christo  plurimum. 

"  And,  sir,  if  it  be  your  pleasure,  as  it  is,  that  I 
shall  play  the  fool  in  my  customable  manner 
when  Fore.«t  shall  suffer,  1  would  wish  that  my 
stage  stood  near  unto  Forest,  for  I  would  endea- 
vour myself  so  to  content  the  people  that  there- 
with I  might  also  convert  Forest.  God  so  help- 
ing, or  rather  altogether  working;  wherefore  I 
would  that  he  should  hear  what  I  shall  say,  si 
forte,  &c.  &c.  Forest,  as  I  hear,  is  not  duly 
accompanied  in  Newgate  for  his  hmendment  witn 
the  White  Friars  of  Doncasrer  and  monks  of  the 
Charterhouse,  more  like  to  indurate  than  to  mol- 
lify ;  whether  through  the  fault  of  the  sheriff,  or 
the  gaolei",  or  both,  no  man  could  sooner  dis- 
cern than  your  lordship.  Some  think  he  is 
rather  comforted  in  his  way  than  discouraged. 
Some  think  he  is  both  allowed  to  hear  mass  and 
to  receive  the  sacrament,  which  if  it  be  so,  it  is 
enough  to  confirm  him  in  his  obstinacy,  as  though 
he  were  to  sufler  for  a  just  cause.  These  things 
would  be  nigher  '  ut  relegantur  ex  multis  eordibus 
cogitationem.' 

■•  It  is  to  be  feared  that  some  instilled  into  him 
that,  though  he  had  persevered  in  his  abjuration, 
yet  he  should  have  suflered  afterwards  for  trea- 
son, and  so  by  that  occasion  he  might  have  been 
induced  to  refuse  his  abjuration.  If  he  would  yet 
with  his  heart  return  to  his  abjuration,  I  would 
wisfi  his  pardon.    Such  is  my  toolishness. 

"H.  L.  WiGOK. 

"  To  the  right  honourable  Lord  Privy  Seal,  his 
singular  gopd  Lord." 

'Original  Letters,"  etc.,  etc.,  with  notes  and 
illustrations,  by  Sir  Henry  Ellis.  Third  Series, 
vol.  iii.  p.  202. 

The  following  contemporary  notice  of  the  burn- 
ing of  Friar  Forest  is  preserved  in  one  of  the 
Harleian  Manuscripts : 

"On  Wednesday,  the  19th  of  May,  1523,  Friar 
Forest,  of  Greenwich,  a  doctor  of  divinity,  was 
burnt  in  Smythfield  for  certain  points  that  he  held 
of  the  Bishop  of  Rome,  and  that  he  would  not 
stick  and  preach  the  Nev/  Testament,  for  he  said 
he  would  ])reach  the  Pope's  traditions,  and  his 
laws,  and  decrees,  and  in  them  and  for  them  he 
died.  At  whose  death  was  Master  Richard  Gres- 
sam,  mayor  of  this  city,  with  his  sheriffs ;  also 
the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  Duke  of  Suflblk,  the 
Lord  Admiral ;  the  Lord  Privy  Seal,  with  divers 
otners,  and  of  the  commons  of  the  city  a  great 
number ;  and  the  Bishop  of  Worcester  did  preach 
aloie  him,  face  to  face,  the  which  bishop's  name 
is  Latimer." 

11.  Mr.  Roper.— "The  reader  is  now  to  know, 
that  William  Roper,  who  married  1^1  argaret  More, 
was  born  in  Kent,  and  educated  for  a  lime  in  one 
of  the  universities.  Afterwards  he  succeeded  his 
father,  John  Roper,  in  the  office  of  pronotary  t)f 
the  King's  Bench,  which  alter  he  had  kept  and 
faithfully  performed  four  years,  he  resigned  to 
lus  son,  Thomas  Roper.  Tne  said  William  was 
very  bouutilul  both  at  home  aud  abroad,  merci- 


Appendix. 


281 


ful.  meek,  and  a  staff  lo  such  as  were  poor,  op- 
pressed, and  in  prison.  At  length,  after  he  liad 
Jived  a  widower  thirtj^-three  years,  and  eighty- 
two  in  this  vain  world,  he  submitted  to  fate  4ch 
January,  1577.  Whereupon  his  body  was  buried 
next  to  Margaret,  his  wife,  in  the  church  of  St, 
Dunstan,  in  Canterbury.  The  life  of  Sir  Thomas 
More  before  mentioned  I  have  often  perused." — 
Anthony  a  Wood,  '-Athenaj  Oxoniensis,"  vol. 
ii.  p.  8. 

12.  Sir  ThomTS  More's  foresight  of  the  sufier- 
ings  of  Catholics.—''  Life  of  Sir  Thomas  More," 
by  ThomaB  Roper,  Esq. 

CHArTER  XII. 

1.  Thomas  Sherwood  was  born  in  London, 
made  his  studies  at  Douay,  returned  to  England 
in  1576,  suffered  at  Tyburn  in  1577.  What  is  re- 
lated in  this  chapter  regarding  the  cause  and  the 
circumstances  of  his  arrestation,  his  severe  suf- 
ferings, and  his  execurion,  is  taken  from  Bridge- 
water's  "Concertatio  Ecclesiai  Cath'olicaj." 

2.  Edmund  Genings'  illness,  recovery,  and 
ardent  desire  to  be  sent  on  the  English  Mission. 
—"■Life,"  by  J.  Genings. 

3.  The  Queen's  speech  to  Lady  Berkeley. — Miss 
A.  Strickland's  "Life  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  p. 
484. 

4.  Dr.  Dee.— "Diary  of  Dr.  Dee,"  publish^'!  by 
the  Camden  Society. 

Prediction  to  Lord  Surrey. — "He  had  under- 
stood by  some  who  had  caused  his  nativity  to  be 
calculated  that  he  should  be  in  great  danger  to  be 
overthrown  by  a  woman."— "Life  of  Lord  Arun- 
del." 

CHAPTER  XIIL 

Mode  of  carrying  recusants  to  prison.— Manu- 
script Letter  of  Father  Parsons. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  following  story,  taken  from  "Records  of 
Missionary  Priests,"  forms  the  groundwork  of 
the  episode  contained  in  these  two  chapters  : 

"Thomas  Tunstall,  of  Thurlaud, in  Lancashire, 
performed  his  studies  abroad  in  the  English  col- 
lege of  Douay,  was  ordained  priest  in  1G09,  and 
sent  on  the  English  Mission  in  IGIO.  Here  he 
quickly  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  pursuivants, 
and  spent  four  or  five  years  of  his  life  in  dillorent 
prisons.  His  last  confinement  before  his  final 
apprehension  was  in  Wisbeach  Castle,  from 
whence  he  made  his  escape,  letting  himself  down 
by  a  rope.  From  Wisbeach  he  made  the  best  of 
his  way  into  Norfolk,  where  he  took  shelter  in  a 
friend's  house,  not  far  from  Lynn.  But  he  had 
been  there  very  few  days  when  search  was  made 
for  him,  and  he  was  apprehended.  There  was  in 
that  neighbourhood  a  charitable  lady  who  did 
great  service  to  the  poor  in  the  way  of  surgery. 
Mr.  Tunstall  stood  in  great  want  of  such  assist- 
auce,  having  grievously  galled  and  wounded  his 
hands  by  the  rubbing  of  the  rope  at  the  time 
when  he  made  his  escape,  the  sores  for  want  of 
proper  applications  being  grown  exceeding  pain- 
mi.  Therefore  his  Catholic  host  advised  him  to 
apply  to  Lady  L'Estrange  (this  was  her  name), 
and  put  himself  under  her  care.  She  received 
him  kindly,  dressed  his  wounds,  and  promised 
him  her  best  assistance  for  making  a  cure.  How- 
ever, the  good  lady  could  not  forbear  talking  to 
her  husband,  Sir  Hammond  L'Estrange,  a  justice 
of  peace,  of  some  particulars  relating  to  her  new 
patient;  as  that  he  was  in  poor  apparel,  yet  a 
gentlemanlike  man  in  his  discourse  and  beha- 
viour, but  withal  somewhat  reserved  in  giving 
an  account  how  he  came  by  those  wounds  in  his 
hands;  that  he  was  a  stranger  in  the  country, 
and  lived  at  the  house  of  a  Popish  recusant.  The 
justice  immediate  y  cried  out,  "This  must  be  the 
Popish  priest  lately  escaped  out  of  Wisbeach," 
for  whom  he  had  that  day  received  orders  to 
nuike  diligent  search.  Upon  this,  the  lady  is  re- 
ported to  have  cast  herself  on  her  knees  to  inter- 
cede for  the  man,  begging  her  husband  to  take  no 


notice  of  what  she  had  said ;  adding  that  she 
should  be  an  unhappy  woman  all  her  life  if  the 
priest  should  come  to  any  trouble  by  her  speechei:. 
«ut  notwithstanding  all  she  could  say  or  do,  the 
knight  persisted  in  his  resolution  to  secure  the 
man,  and  accordingly  sent  out  his  warrants,  and 
had  him  seized  and  brought  before  him.  And 
though  the  lady  again  reijcvved  her  instances  to 
have  him  dismissed,  yet  she  could  not  be  heard  ; 
but  Mr.  Tunstall  was  forthwith  committed  to 
Norwich  gaol,  where  at  the  next  assizes  he  was 
brought  to  trial  and  condemned.  He  sult'ered 
July  I3ch,  IGIG."— The  reader  is  referred  to  the 
second  volume  of  Challoncr's  "  Kecords,"  etc..  p. 
lis.  '.or  a  full  and  interesting  account  of  Mr.  Tu^- 
stail's  trial  and  execution. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

1.  Mr.  Watson.— Richard  Watson  was  a  f  ecular 
priesr,  whose  escape  from  Bridewell  was  cft'ected 
by  the  aid  of  Mistress  Margaret  Ward,  who  was 
in  consequence  condemned  and  executed.  The 
particulars  of  both  their  histories  are  to  be  fouLd 
in  the  first  volume  of  Challoner's  "  Records,"  p. 
233. 

2.  The  Queen's  Brooch.— Out  of  compliment  to 
her  royal  suitor,  the  Due  d'Alen^on.  Elizabeth 
cherished  the  jewelled  similitude  of  a  frog  in  her 
bosom,  in  the  form  of  a  brooch.— Miss  A.  btrick- 
land's  "  Life  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  p.  441. 

3.  Stubbe's  pamphlet  against  the  French  mar- 
riage:—"A  yawning  gulph,"  etc.,  his  punishment 
ana  behavior  under  it. — Miss  A.  Strickland's 
"Life  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  p.  445. 

4.  Queen  Elizabeth's  method  of  retaining  her 
subjects'  afiection,  stated  ))y  herself  in  a  conver- 
sation with  Lady  Harrington. — ' '  Nugae  Antiquai," 
vol.  i.  p.  177. 

5.  A  law  passed  to  prevent  the  further  increase 
of  the  size  of  London.—"  Life  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth," p.  450. 

G.  A  law  with  regard  to  the  dimensions  of  rofs, 
and  the  length  of  swords.— M.  de  Castelnau,  the 
French  envoy,  stopped  by  the  Queen's  officers  in 
Smithfleld.— *•  Life  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  p.  449. 

7.  Richard  Topclifl'e. — "  A  certain  peculiar  cast 
of  character  displayed  in  this  gentleman's  letters 
led  me  to  suppose  that  I  might  probably  collect 
some  particulars  of  his  history  from  the  writers 
of  his  time.  I  can,  however,  only  find  that  he 
Avas  distinguished  as  a  most  implacable  persecn- 
tor  of  the  Roman  Catholics,  of  which  his  own  let- 
ters are  indeed  a  sufficient  proof.  Sir  Anthony 
Standen,  praising  the  Earl  of  Essex's  agreeable 
manners  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Anthony  Bacon,  of  the 
3d  of  March,  1593,  in  Dr.  Birch's  papers,  says, 
"Contrary  to  our  Topcliffian  practice,  he  hath 
done  more  with  words  than  others  could  do  with 
racks."  It  appears  also  in  another  letter  in  that 
collection,  that  Topcliffizare,  in  the  quaint  lan- 
guage of  the  Court,  signified  to  hunt  a  recusant. 
— Lodge's  "Illustrations  of  British  History." 

The  following  note  is  appended  to  the  "Me- 
moir of  the  Rev.  Robert  Southwell,"  by  William 
Turnbnll,  Esq. : 

"Topcliff  had  permission  from  the  Queen's 
Council  to  torture  in  any  manner,  and  to  any  ex- 
tent short  of  death,  the  unfortunate  victims  of 
his  generallj' too  successful  search.  He  was  fre- 
quently heard  to  gay  that  '  nothing  gave  him 
greater  delight  than  the  torturing  and  butchering 
of  Catholics,  and  that  if  his  power  was  equal  to 
his  will,  his  dearest  pleasure  would  be  to  blow 
every  Jesuit  to  powder  in  the  air.'  " 

8.  Frances  Ann  Bellamy.— "  There  was  resident 
atUxendon,  near  Harrow-on-the-Hill,  in  Middle- 
sex, a  Catholic  family  of  the  name  of  Bellamy, 
whom  Southwell  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  and 
providing  with  religious  instruction  when  he  ex- 
changed his  ordinary  close  confinement  for  a 
purer  atmosphere.  One  of  the  daughters,  Ann, 
had  in  her  early  youth  exhibited  marks  of  the 
most  vivid  piet}',  but  having  been  committed  to 
the  Gatehouse  of  Westminster,  her  faith  gradually 
departed,  and  along  with  it  her  virtue.  She  was 
seduced  by  Richard  Topclifle,  and  ended  by  mar- 


282 


Appendix, 


r3'ing  one  of  his  servants,  the  keeper  of  the  prison, 
and  by  this  step  forfeited  all  claim  which  she  had 
by  law  or  favour  upon  her  father.  In  order, 
iberefore,  to  obtain  some  fortune,  she  resolved  to 
taUe  advantage  of  the  Act  of  27  Elizabeth,  which 
made  the  harbouring  of  a  priest  treason.  Accord- 
ingly she  sent  a  messenger  to  Southwell,  urging 
him  to  meet  her  on  a  certain  day  and  hour  at  hec 
father's  house,  whither  he,  either  in  ignorance  or 
what  had  happened,  or  under  the  impression  that 
she  sought  his  spiritual  assistance  through  mo- 
tives of  penitence,  went  at  the  appointed  time. 
In  the  mean  time  having  apprized  her  husband  of 
this,  as  also  of  the  place  of  concealment  in  her 
father's  house,  and  the  mode  of  access,  he  con- 
veyed the  information  to  Topcliffe,  who  with  a 
band  of  his  satellites  surrounded  the  premises, 
broke  open  the  house,  arrested  Father  Southwell, 
and  carried  him  off  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  the 
mob.  lie  was  in  the  first  instance  taken  to  Top- 
ciiffe's  house,  where  during  a  few  weeks  he  was 
put  to  the  torture  with  such  dreadful  severity, 
that,  complainingof  it  to  his  judges,  he  declared 
in  the  name  of  God  that  death  would  have  been 
Iire<'erable."— Bartoli's  "Lives  of  English  Jesu- 
its." 

V).  Father  Southwell.— "  As  to  his  fortitude,  we 
have  the  admiring  testimony  of  Cecil :  '  There  is 
at  present  confined  one  Southwell,  a  Jesuit,  who, 
thirteen  times  most  cruelly  tortured,  cannot  be 
induced  to  confess  anything,  not  even  the  colour 
of  the  horse  whereon  on  a  certain  day  he  rode, 
lost  from  such  indication  his  adversaries  might 
conjecture  in  what  house  or  in  what  company  of 
Catholics  he  that  day  was.'  "—"More,"  ut  supra^ 
p.  I!i3. 

10.  Lord  Monntjoy,  one  of  the  most  determined 
enemies  of  Catholics,  happening  to  be  present  at 
Father  Southwell's  execution,  was  so  struck  by 
his  pious  constancy,  that  he  could  not  forbear  to 
exclaim,  "  May  my  soul  be  with  this  man's  I" — 
•■  Memoir  of  Father  Southwell,"  appended  to  his 
Poetical  Works. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

1.  Lady  Arundel  goes  to  her  husband  to  com- 
phiin  of  iiis  conduct  to  her.  ''This  sort  of  un- 
kind usage,  as  it  caused  in  her  much  grief  and 
affliction  of  mind,  together  with  no  small  indis- 
position of  body.  60  it  forced  her  at  length  to  go 
to  him  to  cxjjostulate  and  mind  him  of  his  obli- 
gation towards  her,  which  she  performed  in  a 
"humble  and  dutiful  way.  The  Earl,  though  he 
could  not  deny  her  to  be  his  wife,  yet  showed  but 
small  signs  that  he  would  treat  or  esteem  her  as 
such ;  upon  which  she  resolved,  for  her  last  re- 
fuge, to  have  recourse  to  his  grandfather,  the 
Earl  of  Arundel,  who  received,  and  not  only  re- 
ceived, but  entertained,  and  kept  in  his  own 
house  as  long  as  he  lived,  with  all  kindness  as 
his  own  child,  and  also  did  his  best  endeavour  to 
reclaim  the  Earl  her  husband,  though  his  efforts 
proved  ineffectual." — "Life  of  the  Countess  of 
Arundel,"  p.  179. 

2.  The  narrative  put  into  the  mouth  of  Mr. 
Sherwood,  describing  the  adventures  of  a  priest 
landing  in  England,  the  manner  of  his  escape, 
the  cause  of  his  surrendering  himself,  and  tne 
anecdote  of  the  dangers  incurred  in  the  perfor- 
mance of  an  act  of  restitution  undertaken  in  be- 
half of  a  deceased  Catholic,  are  borrowed  from  a 
manuscript  letter  of  Father  Parsons. 

CHAPTER  XVn. 

1.  Sir  Thomas  More's  last  interview  with  his 
daughter,  and  what  she  did  in  order  to  give  him 
christian  burial. — "  Life  of  Sir  Thomas  More," 
etc.,  p.  79. 

:i.  Sir  John  Harrington's  Poetical  Petition, — 
"  Life  of  C^uecn  Elizabeth,"  p.  418. 

CHAPTER  XVIIL 

1.  Sir  Francis  Walsingham.— "  Lhoyd,  who  im- 
putes universal  genius  to  him,  says  that  he  could 


as  well  fit  the  humour  of  King  James  with  pas- 
sages out  of  Xenophon,  Thucydides,  Plutarch,  or 
Tacitus,  as  he  could  that  of  Henry,  King  of 
France,  with  Rabelais'  conceits,  or  the  Holland- 
ers with  Mechanic's  Discourses." 

He  was  one  of  the  most  refined  politiciap«  and 
most  penetrating  statesmen  that  any  age  ever 
produced.  He  had  an  admirable  talent  both  in 
managing  and  discovering  the  secret  recesses  of 
human  nature.  His  favorite  sayings  vrere,  "  Know- 
ledge is  never  too  dear,"  and,  "  Video  et  Taceo." 
The  Queen  said,  in  diligence  and  sagacity  he  ex- 
ceeded her  expectations.  His  spies  sometimes 
attended  a  man  for  three  years  together. 

2.  Lady  Sydney.—"  Sir  Philip  Sydney  married 
Walsiugham's  daughter  portionless,  'not  carry- 
ing his  love  in  his  purse.'  This  is  that  Sir  Fran- 
cis, who  impoverished  himself  to  enrich  the  state, 
and  indeed  made  England  his  heir.  He  was  so 
far  from  building  up  a  fortune  by  the  benefit  of 
his  place,  that  he  demolished  that  fine  estate  left 
him  by  his  ancestors  to  purchase  dear  intelligence 
from  all  parte  of  Christendom.  He  had  a  key  to 
unlock  the  Pope's  cabinet,  and  if  as  master  of 
some  invisible  whispering-place,  all  the  secrets  of 
Christian  princes  met  at.  his  closets.  Wonder 
not  then  if  he  bequeathed  no  great  wealth  to  his 
daughter." — "  Aulica  Arcana." 

3.  Sir  Francis  Walsingham's  answer  to  a  friend 
who  taxed  him  with  being  melancholy :  "No,  I  am. 
not  melancholy.  I  am  serious,  and  'tis  fit  J 
should  be  so.  O  my  friends,  whilst  we  laugh,  all 
things  are  serious  round  about  us  I  God  is  seri- 
ous, who  exercises  patience  towards  us.  Christ 
is  serious,  who  shed  his  blood  for  tis.  The  Holy 
Spirit  is  serious,  in  striving  against  the  obstinacy 
of  our  hearts.  The  Holy  Scriptures  bring  to  our 
ears  the  most  serious  things  in  the  Avorid.  The 
whole  creation  is  serious  in  serving  God  and  us. 
The  Holy  Sacraments  represent  the  most  serious 
and  awful  matters.  AH  that  are  in  heaven  and  in 
hell  are  serious.    How,  then,  can  we  be  gay  ?" 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

1 .  Mistress  Margaret  Ward.—"  Yesterday  she 
suffered  at  Tyburn,  with  a  wonderful  constancy 
and  alacrity." 

The  history  of  this  courageous  woman's  suc- 
cessful stratagem  for  the  promotion  of  Mr.  Wat- 
son's escape  Irom  Bridewell,  of  her  trial,  scourg- 
ing, sentence,  and  execution,  is  glveu  in  the  first 
volume  of  Challoner's  "Records  of  Missionary 
Priests." 

2.  "Description  of  the  piece  of  Embroidery 
which  the  Queen  of  Scots  sent  as  a  present  to  the 
Countess  oi  Arundel." — "  Life  of  the  Countess  of 
Arundel,"  p.  265. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

1.  Euston.— "  Euston,  a  village  pleasantly  situa- 
ted upon  the  river  Ouse  the  less.  It  is  on  a  flat, 
and  by  a  fair  champion  country." 

"It  is  almost  surrounded  by  trees  of  uncommon 
growth,  and  of  the  most  healthy  and  luxuriant 
appearance,  and  near  it  flows  the  river  Ouse,  ovc»r 
which  is  thrown  a  neat  substantial  wooden 
bridge.  The  scenery  about  the  house  and  park 
combines  the  most  delightful  assemblage  of  rural 
objects  that  can  well  be  ijiiagined.  and  is  justly 
celebrated  by  tiie  author  of  the  '  Farmer's  Boy.' 
Euston  is  the  biggest  house  in  the  county  ol  Suf- 
folk, built  by Rookwood,  Esq..  in  the  time  of 

Q.ueen  Elizabeth.  That  estate  hath  continued  in 
the  family  of  Rookwood  many  generations  ;  Ed- 
ward Rookwood  of  Euston  being,  I  think,  a 
Popish  recusant,  compounded  his  estate  for  700/. 
12/?."—"  History  of  the  County  of  Suffolk." 

2.  Description  of  a  Stag-hunt— Is  taken  from 
an  incident  in  the  life  of  Wilson,  the  histoiian. 
a  retainer  of  the  Earl  of  Essex.— "  Shakespeare 
and  his  Times,"  p.  13(J. 

3.  Master  Owen  was  a  lay  brother  of  the  So- 
ciety of  Jesus,  and  servant  of  Father  Garnet.  I  It- 
was  commonly  called  Little  .Tolin.  His  stature 
was  extraordinarily  small.     He  had  originally 


Appendix. 


28' 


been  a  carpenter,  and,  beini?  a  person  of  sin<?iilar 
ingenuity,  he  carried  his  abilities  in  that  line  in 
the  contiivin^  of  those  hitlir)j,'-places  which  had 
become  a  necessary  appendage  to  the  houses  of 
recusants.  His  skill  in  this  respect  was  so  well 
known,  that  there  was  scarcely  a  Catholic  house 
in  England  where  he  was  not  called  upon  t)  make 
one  of  these  secret  chambers,  which  were  so  oltpn 
the  means  of  saving  the  lives  of  priests  and  other 
recusants.  He  wai  a  man  of  raost  holy  life  and 
manners,  and  was  always  observed  to  pray  while 
he  was  at  work.  It  was  his  habit  to  go  to  Com- 
munion before  beginning  any  labor  of  this  kind. 
When  he  was  arre--ted.  at  the  same  time  as  Father 
t'arnet,  great  exultation  wa.-^  felt  by  the  violent 
Protestant  party ;  for  hopes  were  entertained 
that,  he  would  be  forced  to  reveal  the  secret  of 
their  innumerable  hiding-places  ;  but  no  amount 
of  torture  could  extract  one  word  from  him  on 
the  subject,  though  he  was  so  cruelly  racked  in 
prison  that  he  died  f  oon  after  he  was  taken  off 
the  torture.— From  More's  ''•History  of  the  Eng- 
lish Province,"  and  Bartoli's  "Lives  of  Englihii 
Jesuits," 

4.  The  Holy  Week  at  Enston— The  description 
given  of  it  is  taken  from  "■  Mrs.  Dorothy  Lawsou's 
Life,"  published  by  Sir  William  Lawson,  Bart. 

5.  The  Sun  dancing  at  Easter.— It  was  the  be- 
lief of  the  vulgar  that  the  Sun  himself  partook  of 
the  general  exhilaration  at  Eastertide,  and  regu- 
larly danced  on  the  morning  of  the  Resurrection. 
—'•  Shakespeare  and  his  Times,"  p.  71. 

(5.  Fishing  to  be  preferred  to  hunting. — The 
preference  Constance  Sherwood  is  made  to  give 
to  fishing  over  hunling  is  expressed  by  Damo 
Juliana  Berners  in  a  little  tract,  entitled  "•  The 
treatise  pertaining  to  hawking,^  hunting,  and 
lishin^,"  printed  in  14%.  The  descriptions  of 
hawking  are  from  Gervase  Markham's  "Country 
Contentments,"  a  version  in  prose  of  a  poem  on 
the  same  subject  by  John  Dennys. 

7.  The  Keconciliation  between  Lord  and  Lady 
Arundel,  and  her  removal  to  Arundel  Castle.— 
••  The  Life  of  the  Countess  of  Arundel,"  p.  181. 

8.  The  Lamb  Ale.  or  Sheep-shearing  Feast. — 
This  rustic  festival  1ms  furnished  the  poets  of  the 
KHh  and  17th  century  with  subjects  for  the  most 
exquisite  poetry,  'the  following  verses  of  Dray- 
ion  descriije  the  custom  ahuded  to  in  this  chap- 
ter: 

"  With  light  fantastic  toe,  the  nymphs 
Thither  assembled  ;  thither  every  swain  ; 
And  o'er  the  dimpled  stream  a  tliousand  flowers, 
Pale  lilies,  roses,  violets,  and  pinks. 
Mixt  with  the  greens  otburnet,  mint,  and  thyme. 
And  treloil,  sprinkled  witn  their  sportive  arms." 

CHAPTSR  XXIL 

1.  The  Queen's  progress  through  Norfolk  and 
Suffolk.— ••  Life  of  Qunen  Kbzabeth,"  p.  430. 

2.  Description  of  the  Pageants  at  Norwich.— 
Churchyard,  the  poet,  and  an  old  retainer  of  the 
Norfolk  family,  arranged  all  the  pageants  on  this 
occasion,  and  gives  himself  a  description  of  what 
had  been  planned,  and  the  mischief  caused  by  the 
delusing  rain. — '•  Life  of  Qaeen  Elizabeth,"  p. 
433. 

3.  Queen  Elizabeth's  visit  to  Eustou,  and  the 
scenes  which  took  place  there.— The  following 
letter  from  Richard  Topcliffe  to  the  Earl  of  Shrews- 
bury gives  a  graphic  account  of  them  : 

"  Richard  Topclyfte  to  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury, 
"SOthof  August,  1578, 
"■  At  Stamford. 

"Fou  TAX  Duty,  &c.  &c.— Since  I  did  wait 
upon  your  good  Lordship,  and  after  I  parted 
irom  Mr.  Gilbert  Talbot  at  lullingworth,  and 
have  been  trained  b^  little  and  little  onward  this 
l)n)gress  thus  far  now  homewards,  and  because 
1  would  gladly  wait  upon  your  Lordship  and  my 
liady  in  such 'convenient  place  and  at  such  time 
as  shall  best  please  you,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to 
trouble  your  Lordship  in  the  meantime  with  my 
scribbling  some  such  news  as  partly  yon  know 
and  partly  are  not  like  to  know,  but  by  such 
wayfarers,  and   somewhat  shall  keep  in  stoie, 


havirg  in  charg3  from  her  Majesty  to  your  good 
Loi-dAiip  all  tending  towards  ner  gnicious  favoui- 
and  assistance  in  your  Lordship,  of  whom  her 
Highness  saith  she  hath  daily  most  faithlul  trial, 
which  the  Lord  knows  I  joy  at.  Kext  somo  com- 
fort I  received  of  her  lor  myself,  that  must  ever 
lie  nearest.  The  best  good  news  is  thai'her  Ma- 
jesty hath  served  God  with  great  zeal  and  com- 
fortable examples  ;  lor  by  her  Council  two  no- 
torious papists,  young  Rookwood  (the  master  of 
Fusion  Hall,  where  her  Majesty  did  lie  upon 
Sunday  now  a  fortnight),  and  one  Downes.  a 
gentleman,  were  both  committed,  the  one  to  the 
town  prison  at  Norwich,  the  otber  to  the  country 
prison  there  for  obstinate  papistry,  and  seven 
more  gentlemen  of  worship  were  committed  to 
several  houses  in  Norwich  as  prisoners  ;  two  of 
the  Lovells,  another  Downes,  one  Bedingfleld, 
one  Parr3%  and  two  others  not  worthy  naming,  for 
badness  of  belief. 

"This  Rookwood  is  a  papist,  newly  crept  out 
of  his  late  wardship.  Iler  Majesty,  by  some 
means  I  know  not.  was  lodged  at  his  house.  Eus- 
tou, farre  unmeet  for  her  Highness,  but  fitter  for 
the  blackguard.  Nevertheless,  the  gentlemin 
brought  into  her  Majesty's  presence  by  the  like 
device,  her  excellent  Majesty  gave  to  Rookwood 
ordinary  thanks  for  his  bad  house  and  her  fair 
hand  to  kiss  ;  after  which  it  was  braved  out.  But 
my  Lord  Chamberlain,  nobly  and  gravely,  under- 
standing that  Rookwood  was  excommunicated 
for  papistry,  called  him  before  him,  demanded  of 
him  how  he  dared  presume  to  attempt  her  royal 
presence,  he,  unfit  to  accompany  any  Christian 
person ;  forthwith  said  he  was  fitter  for  a  pair  of 
stocks ;  commanded  him  out  of  the  court,  and 
yet  to  attend  her  CounclFs  pleasure ;  and  at  Nor- 
wich he  was  committed.  And  to  decypher  the 
gentleman  to  the  full,  a  piece  of  plate,  having 
been  missed  in  the  court,  and  searched  for  in  his 
hay-house,  in  the  hayrick  such  an  image  of  Our 
Lady  was  there  found,  as  for  greatness  and  gay- 
ness  and  workmanship  I  did  never  see  a  match  ; 
and  after  a  sort  of  country  dance,  ended  in  her 
Majesty's  sight,  the  idol  was  set  behind  the 
people,  who  avoided  .  .  .  .  (the  intermediate 
words  are  too  offensive  to  be  transcribed).  Her 
Majesty  commanded  it  to  the  fire,  which  in  her 
sight  by  the  country  folk  was  quickly  done,  to 
her  content  and  unspeakable  joy  of  every  one  but 
some  one  or  two  who  had  sucked  of  the  idol's 
poisoned  milk. 

"  I  was  happy  lately  amongst  other  good  graces 
that  her  Majesty  did  tell  me  of  sundry  lewd  Pop- 
ish beasts  that  have  resorted  to  Buxton  from 
their  countries  in  the  south,  since  my  Lord  did 
come  from  thence.  Her  Highness  doubteth  not 
but  you  regard  them  well  enough,  amongst  whom 
there  is  a  detestable  Popish  priest,  one  Dyrham, 
or  Durande.  Mr.  Secretary  hath  written  to  your 
Lordship  in  this  his  letter  here  enclosed,  to  wish 
your  Lordship  to  apprehend  him:  to  examine 
him  of  his  coming  to  the  Church,  and  upon  the 
least  or  lightest  occasion  to  commit  him,  and  to 
certify  the  Lords  thereof,  .  ,  ," — Lodge's  "  Il- 
lustrations of  British  Historj',"  vol.  ii,  pp.  liy-l-Jl. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

1.  The  details  relating  to  Father  Campion's  ar- 
rival in  London,  the  temporary  chapel  at  Noel 
House,  the  efi'ects  of  his  preaching  and  presence 
in  London,  are  taken  from  Bar  toll's  "Lives  of  the 
English  Jesuits." 

2.  Description  of  Arundel  Castle. — "  nisti)ry 
and  Antiquities  of  Arundel  Castle,"  by  the  Rev. 
M,  Tierney. 

3.  Lady  Arundel's  reconcilement,— All  the  par- 
ticulars concerning  this  event.  Lord  Arundel's 
conduct  at  that  time,  the  impression  made  upon 
him  by  his  sister.  Lady  Margaret  Sackville's  con- 
version, Lac'y  Arundel's  arrest  and  imprison- 
ment, are  drawn  from  the  history  other  lile. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
1,  Lord  Arundel's  intention  to  leave  the  king- 


284 


Appendix. 


dom,  the  cause  of  its  failure,  the  Queen's  visit  to 
him  at  Arundel  House,  his  subsequent  imprison- 
ment and  examination,  his  wife's  release,  his 
conversion  to  Catholicism,  the  change  in  his  life 
which  resulted  from  it,  are  detailed  at  length  in 
the  history  of  his  life. 

2.  Queen  Elizabeth's  device  for  the  reconcilia- 
tion of  Sir  John  Spencer  with  his  daughter.  Lady 
Compton.— ''  Queen  Elizabeth's  Life,"  by  Misd  A. 
Strickland,  p.  t)33. 

3.  The  description  of  the  Huguenot  victory  in 
Provence,  is  taken  from  an  article  in  "  La  Kevue 
d' Economic  Chretienne  "  for  May,  1865. 

4.  The  travellers'  adventures  in  France,  and 
view  of  French  and  English  manners,  are  taken 
from  Fynes  Morrison's  "  Travels  in  the  Sixteenth 
Century." 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

1.  The  whole  substance  of  this  chapter,  as  re- 
gards Edmund  Genings  and  his  brother,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Swithin  Wells,  and  their  companions,  is 
drawn  from  the  "Life  of  Edmund  Genings,"  by 
John  Genings. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


1.  The  details  of  the  execution  of  Edmund 
Genings  and  Mr.  Wells,  and  of  John  Genmg.-,' 
conversion,  are  related  bj"  the  latter  in  the  above- 
mentioned  work. 

2.  The  Queen's  unkind  comment  on  Lady 
Arundel's  verses.— Miss  A.  Strickland's  "Life  of 
Queen  Elizabeth." 

•3.  A  touching  relation  of  the  almost  simultane- 
ous deaths  of  Sir  John  and  Lady  Biron,  the 
g/andlather  and  grandmother  of  Colonel  Hutchin- 


pon,  is  given  in  his  Memoirs,  written  by  his 
widow,  Lucy. 

CHAPTERS  XXVIL  and  XXVHL 

1.  Father  Southwell's  verses.  "Time  goes  by 
Turn-."— From  a  volume  of  his  poems,  repub- 
lished in  1856. 

2.  The  history  of  Lord  Arundel's  attempted 
escape,  of  his  betrayal,  arrest,  lingering  suflcr- 
ings,  ten  years'  imprisonment,  admirable  virtues, 
of  his  wife's  ill-usage,  of  the  obstinate  refusal  to 
allow  them  ever  to  meet  on  the  part  of  the 
Queen,  not  even  at  his  deathbed,  uule^^s 
he  had  renounced  his  religion,  of  the  oflVr 
made  him  at  the  last  of  a  full  restoration 
to  fortune,  rank,  and  the  company  of  his  wife 
and  children,  if  he  would  have  conformed  to  the 
established  religion  even  by  one  single  act  of 
compliance,  are  strictly  historical.  So  are  the 
smallest  details  regarding  Lord  and  Lady  Arun- 
del in  the  concluding  chapter  of  this  tale.  Not 
a  single  fact,  not  a  single  hardship,  has  been 
invented.  Nothing  added  but  the  supposed  ex- 
pression of  her  feelings  under  this  long  persecu- 
tion. 

3.  Rookwood's  execution  at  the  time  of  the 
Gunpowder  Plot.— The  author  of  the  *'  Illustra- 
tions of  British  History  "  aiiixes  a  note  to  the 
previously  given  letter  of  Richard  Topcliffe,  in 
which  he  says:  "Probably  the  same  Rookwood 
who  was  implicated  in  the  Gunpowder  Plot,  and 
executed  in  1605."  For  obvious  reasons  the 
author  of  this  tale  concludes  this  Rookwood  to 
have  been  the  brother  of  the  hero  of  her  story. 

4.  "  The  Holy  Maries."— When  the  nuns  of  The 
Visitation  were  first  established  in  France,  the 
popular  name  they  went  by  amongst  the  lower 
orders  was  "  Les  Saintes  Maries."— "  Life  of 
Madame  de  Chantal,"  by  the  Abbe  Bougaud. 


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